What Counts
by thewandcrafter
Summary: It's been nearly eight years since the Battle of Hogwarts... six years... and five months... and seventeen days... since Snape set eyes on Harry Potter... Not even an owl. Damn it, that hurts. And now... out of nowhere... Potter asks to meet at the Hog's Head... What does he want? And... this is going to hurt, isn't it? Note: This is NOT a sequel to Heart of the Guardian!
1. Chapter 1

**The Usual Disclaimer: **Jo Rowling's people and setting; my plot. No dollars were harmed or traded in the crafting or reading of this story.

AU; post-Battle by 7.5 years. Ignores Epilogue and is **male/male relationship-centered**, but is otherwise canon-consistent.

**Warning: **This is a (very mild) Harry/Severus slash fic. That means an INTIMATE relationship between two adult men. If this bothers you in any way whatsoever, please don't make yourself uncomfortable by reading it. And don't bother sending me hate mail about it, either. It won't do either of us any good - it brings negativity and hate into the world, and that stuff just doesn't stick to me. Teflon coated, like all authors learn to be.

I dearly love hearing from readers. It's the only method of payment we fanfic writers get, so please remunerate in accordance with the value received from reading. If you love it, shower me with love. Okay? I'll give it all back, and then some. 3 3 3

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**What Counts**

_Thursday Oct 17, 2005_

Severus Snape sang the spell to let himself out the gates at the entrance to the school grounds. He paused a moment to check the path that led from Hogwarts to the nearby town of Hogsmeade. One could never be too careful, even now. Death Eaters and Snatchers were still loose, seven years after the Battle of Hogwarts, and there were always new threats. The wizarding world would never be wholly safe, though it was much safer now than it had been in nearly his entire lifetime, he acknowledged.

Shaking his head loose from the habit of constant worry and vigilance, he turned his eyes to the night sky, seeking Cassiopeia, Orion, Polaris. He'd taken up studying astronomy after Potter left – not for divination, just… something to help him figure out where he was in the world, help him find his bearings. It grounded him, oriented him. He'd felt so lost…

He missed the boy. He missed knowing who he was, his purpose in life. Seven years on, and he still hadn't figured it out – why he was still alive, what he was supposed to be living for now, without Potter in his life. It had been six years… _and five months, and seventeen days… _since he'd seen the boy. He'd taken to calculating it, along with counting other things. His mind performed the calculations automatically. It always did. _The boy would be twenty-five years, two months, and twenty days old. He had turned eleven fourteen years, two months, and twenty days ago. Seven years, five months, and seventeen days ago, he had nearly died… they'd both nearly died. He'd been seventeen years, nine months, and three days old… And he'd almost died that day._

On the rare occasions he found himself, mid-morning, not having oriented himself that way, not having counted, he panicked. _It had been six years, five months, seventeen days._ If he counted it, if he kept track, he felt like he still had a hold on himself, like there was a connection… like the boy might come back some day, and he could tell him... how he really felt… that he'd come to care… If he forgot to count, it was as if the boy was slipping away, permanently, as if he could forget what the boy looked like, what he sounded like, what it had been like to have Potter here for six years… and then gone for one terrifying year – not that they hadn't nearly all been terrifying – and then back again, the day he and the boy had almost died. If he forgot to count, as absurd as it was, it was as if _the boy_ had forgotten _him_, as if some connection between them had been severed. His mind shied away from that. It hurt too much.

He'd felt numb at first – shock, perhaps – after the boy left just as he'd been well enough to… _something_. And then he'd felt such loss that he could barely stand it, and had fallen asleep nightly with tears leaking down the sides of his face into his pillow. _It's from the pain in my arms… my back… my neck_, he had told himself – from the wounds he'd suffered in the attack by Nagini, intended to kill, but cut short by the Dark Lord's curt call, and his haste to use the Elder Wand to see the boy dead and win the day. But they had both survived, he and the boy, and neither the Dark Lord nor Nagini had. _Thank Merlin and all the gods!_

But even then, he'd known it to be a lie, that the tears were from his sense of loss, and had told himself, _Don't lie, Severus._ And then he'd been angry. _Why didn't the boy even send a damned owl? Don't I deserve that much, at least? _But behind that, and after that, when anger started to fade, was hurt… and loss. _Doesn't it matter at all, that I tried to protect him? Don't I matter to him at all? _And he knew that, above all, he wanted to _matter_ to the boy.

_Tell the truth, Sev._

_No._

He'd last seen the boy a year after the Battle, at the memorial for the fifty-four students, townspeople, and members of the Order who had given their lives to protect the school and the wizarding world. It had been better than six months since he'd seen the boy… _six months, eighteen days_. Snape had been barely recovered, even then. He'd needed support to get to his seat, but he'd still had the strength to notice Potter's shocking thinness. He'd thought the boy gaunt, though not so wasted as Snape had been. He thought it was a result of the boy's grief, and what he'd been through before and during the war.

He'd been too ill to approach the boy, and though they had made eye contact when the boy stood at the end of the ceremony, and there had been… _something_… on the boy's face, the boy had hesitated, nodded, and then turned away. _Maybe he hates me._

That had hurt so badly that he had retched and vomited until Poppy had dosed him back to sleep, declaring that the service had been too much for his weakened state. It had hurt more, later, the pain of the absence of the boy in his life increasing nearly day by day until the very thought of the boy was painful… and _not_ thinking of the boy, on the rare occasion he had a day that started _without_ thinking of Potter, brought about panic – that he would forget… that he would lose whatever it was that he had left of the boy.

He knew the boy visited the school. McGonagall or Hagrid, usually, would say something about it, casually dropping mention of it into conversation at lunch. Then Snape would sit still, close his eyes, and, after moments during which he tried to force calm upon himself, fighting back a pain almost like panic, he would excuse himself and go to his quarters, where he would retch, or pace, or try, unsuccessfully, to focus on potions, which he always would have to toss as utterly useless. Minerva eventually noted his distress, and stopped mentioning the boy's visits.

It took him a long time to figure out why it mattered, and then it had hurt so badly that, one day, he found himself at the top of the Astronomy Tower. _Why am I up here? _Because there was nothing left… no reason to go on. He wasn't teaching yet, wasn't sure McGonagall would let him, would be able to counter public opinion and offer him a spot at the school. Rita Skeeter had done a smear job on him - and on the boy. It was the boy who was the problem. He'd gone, without a word… without goodbye… without anything. He was just completely, inexplicably, gone from Snape's life, and he didn't know what to do with that, who he was, without the boy.

It was the boy who sent him up there, and it was the boy who brought him down the stairs, rather than off the Tower – not to save himself, but to keep from hurting Potter. _What would it be like for the boy to hear of it? After the boy saved him, for Snape to throw it away… after Potter nearly died, lost so many others, for someone to throw it away – life? _ So he backed away from the wall, backed away from the image of Dumbledore falling… away from following his mentor off the Tower. He couldn't leave the boy with that… so he'd come back down.

He'd taken to counting, calculating the days, as if he could get some kind of hold on it. It didn't work, but he couldn't give it up, as if hanging on the days, the numbers, somehow assured him that the boy was still alive… still out there… that it was possible he might simply _see _him again. So he counted religiously, throughout the day, and his mind performed the calculations in his sleep, waking him in the middle of the night, when he pretended he simply needed to use the loo, then fell asleep, calculating the days since he had seen Potter, quantifying his grief and his loss. Did it help? He didn't know, but he was too terrified to stop, so he continued, and assiduously followed stories about the boy in _The Daily Prophet_, and searched for mention of the boy in Kingsley Shacklebolt's weekly reports about events at the Ministry.

And then the boy disappeared off the map, gone to ground for some reason that Snape didn't know, that no one could tell him, disappeared despite frantic searches by the Ministry, frantic Owls between Snape, Arthur, and Kingsley. Even his friends did not know where the boy was – or if they did, they weren't saying. What had happened? Was he in danger? What was he running from? Was it just some long mission? The Ministry denied it, but who trusted the government anymore… or ever? He didn't even know what day Potter had disappeared, so he didn't know how to count, but it had been eleven months and then some.

He kept counting those things that he could, as if counting could tether Potter to life, keep him alive if he were in danger, and cursed himself, and the Ministry, and the boy's friends for not putting a Trace on him, as ridiculous as that would have sounded before the boy disappeared.

And then, just before breakfast this morning, a tawny owl tapped at his window, and he let it in, thinking it his weekly update from Kingsley, though a bit early for that. He opened it, and the half-familiar scrawl had his heart pounding before he dropped his eyes to the signature – _Harry_. Just _Harry. _He reached behind himself, blindly searching for a chair, something to support him, and practically fell into it, staring at the signature, his hands shaking. _Meet me at the Hog's Head for dinner?_ it said, _8 p.m._


	2. Chapter 2

The Usual Disclaimers - Jo's lovely, lovely men and setting. Just borrowing. Galleon-less. Reviews always make me smile. Thanks for reading.

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"_Meet me at the Hog's Head for dinner?_" it said, "_8 p.m._"

Snape held the folded parchment in fingers gone suddenly cold… _Is he all right? Is he safe? Where the hell had he been the past year… the past six? What does he want from me? Where's he been? Couldn't he have written… couldn't he have let someone know? Couldn't he have let me know? _ Part of him wanted to fling the note into the fire, away from him, as if it burned… part of him wanted to hold it in the pocket of his robe, near his heart. He settled for leaving it on his desk.

_Damn, he missed the boy_. His heart ached with it, and he almost decided not to come… almost couldn't stand the thought of being near the boy. But – the truth was, he'd have done anything_… anything_ for the boy… for Potter… anything he needed… at any cost… and almost anything just to be near him again. _Why? It hurt, so why? It was going to hurt, wasn't it? So why? Why did just the chance… why did he need that?_ But he'd decided to go, because he would have done… anything.

_Be honest, Sev. _

_Anything._

So now, he turned and paced the path from the school to Hogsmeade, one part eager, willing, one part terrified, terror winning out more and more as he neared the town, though he could not put his finger on what terrified him more – that it would be the same, or that it would be different. And what might _different_ be? He forced himself to keep walking - past the Three Broomsticks, past the tea shop, past the sweet shop, to the door of the Hog's Head. He took a deep breath, pushed open the door, and searched the room with his eyes. A man he thought might be Potter was sitting, head down, his head in the hood of his travel robe, against the wall in a corner. The man looked up as he drew near.

"Professor…"

"Potter."

The man stood, pushed back his hood, and held out his hand as Snape approached the table.

"It's been – what? Six years?" Snape said, shaking Potter's warm, rough hand, his own cold from the walk and from his fear. _Six years, five months, seventeen days… _He stood a moment, looking at the man, trying not to shake his head, then took off his cloak and laid it over a nearby chair. His heart beat a shuddering rhythm. He was frightened. _Why? Gods, it hurt to see him! Oh, Merlin, it was good to see him!_

"Yeah… the memorial."

Potter's gauntness the day of the memorial was nothing compared to that of the man who rose to greet him. This man was… emaciated… ill, perhaps… haunted. Next to him, Snape felt his own thinness healthy, almost obscene. He shook his head, confused, and motioned the boy – the man, he reminded himself – to take his seat.

"Thanks for meeting me, Professor."

Snape nodded. "Anytime, Potter. I'd ask how you are, but…" He gestured vaguely in Potter's direction.

Potter twitched a shoulder. His eyes were sunken into his face. He was unshaven. His typically mussed hair was almost matted, Snape thought. His clothes hung off him and were none too clean.

_What the hell…? _Snape shook his head again. "What happened to you, Potter? You look like hell."

The man laughed. "Always the diplomat, aren't you, Snape?"

"Severus. If we're going to be trading insults, we might as well be informal."

"Severus." Potter repeated it as if he were trying it out, tasting it.

Snape watched him, fighting off his… grief? Loss? Anger? What was it? The boy had been gone for six years, five months, seventeen days… not a word. _Damn, he'd missed him… Damn it, that hurt._

"Where the hell have you been?"He shook his head, trying to force it down. _Be. Here. Now. _He'd read that somewhere, in some philosophy book he'd read trying to find his balance sometime in the last six years. He couldn't remember the author. He tried to focus on the moment. _Why was he here? _He wasn't sure if he meant himself or Potter.

Aberforth Dumbledore came over to take their orders, grunting in surprise when he realized who they were. Neither of them was recognizable from before, Snape realized. He hadn't been here, hadn't left the School grounds, in fact, in… could it have been months? He couldn't leave - not with Potter still missing. What if there was news?

Snape's hair was graying at the temples, and he wore it shorter now, so it required less care – easier on his arms and shoulders and wrists, still painful. He dressed differently, too, giving up his solid black for black pants and a white shirt under a soft green sweater tonight – fewer buttons, in deference to his wounded hands and wrists. His cloak was a darker, coordinating green. He still liked that color, despite that he was Gryffindor's Head of House now. It felt healthy, growthful… hopeful, maybe. He wore it to remind himself to keep living. It sometimes worked.

Potter's hair, on the other hand, was longer, shaggier. His clothes were… _unkempt_ would be the kindest word. He looked like he'd slept in them, and none too well either, to judge from his face. It was tired, drawn, and lined, though how that could be, given the boy… the man… was only twenty-five, Snape didn't understand.

They ordered. Snape eyed the man. He looked… destitute. "My galleons," he said. Potter laughed, but the sound was almost flat. Snape's heart twinged and he rubbed his chest absently.

"So… six years," he said. _Six years, five months, seventeen days._ "I was surprised to get your owl this morning."

Potter said nothing, just looked at him. This was the first time he'd ever looked into the boy's eyes without flinching, he realized, without reflexively getting angry, fending off his feelings. Potter's eyes no longer evoked spasms of guilt and regret. Those left when he gave his life for the boy – or nearly had. His debt to Lily, James, and their son was paid. And with that, his relationship with Lily seemed to have faded, too. He did not miss it, exactly. He knew what it was he missed. He studied Potter's worn face, and the green eyes and black hair seemed to belong only to him now, any echo of Lily and James obliterated, perhaps, by what the boy himself had endured. _What happened to you, Potter?_

"What can I do for you, Potter? What did you want to talk about?"


	3. Chapter 3

**The Usual Disclaimer:** Wish they were mine, but I'm just borrowing them from Jo Rowling. Not a single sickle has enriched my coffers... Reviews do feed my soul, though. This chapter is longer because I couldn't figure out where to break it.

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"What can I do for you, Potter? What did you want to talk about?"

The younger man's eyes glinted in amusement, and maybe desperation. His jaw was slightly clenched, his face uncertain. He hesitated and looked down for a few moments. Then he looked up at Snape, inhaled slightly and said, "Tell me about my mother."

Snape clasped his hands together over his plate, elbows to either side, his hands under his chin, and searched Potter's face. _What do you want from me? _"Your mother? After all this time? Of course, I don't suppose there's anyone left for you to ask, is there?" he said quietly. "Lupin… Sirius… James… they're all gone. Though… she did have other classmates, you know." _I don't want to talk about your mother. _He did not let himself name what he wanted to talk about. _Where've you been, damn it?_

_Don't. Just… don't. There's no point. Dear gods, don't do this to yourself, Sev._

"Yes, but… you were her friend."

_Was. Her friend. _A spasm of pain crossed Snape's face.

"I'm sorry, Severus. If you'd rather…"

_Severus. _He felt his heart twinge at that, and he nearly leaned into the sound of it. _Damn it! __Don't__. _"No. It's all right. Of course. I suppose I owe you that much… at the least."

Potter looked at him strangely, but said nothing.

Snape looked across at the man. _He's twenty-five now_. His mind did the calculations again. _Twenty-five years, two months, and twenty days old. Fourteen years, two months, and twenty days ago, he'd turned eleven, gotten his wand, and sent an owl saying he'd be coming to Hogwarts. Seven years, five months, and seventeen days ago, he had nearly died... _

Potter had a day's growth, at least, of stubble on his chin, he noted. _Irrelevant_. "What did you wish to know?"

"You…" Potter paused and swallowed. "You knew her when she was… a child."

"Yes. We met when we were nine." _Lily… _"Summer… no – spring. 1969."

"What was she like?"

"What was she like?" He swirled the wine in his glass. _Lily…_ "She was… young." _Brilliant, Sev. _Snape shook his head. "She was vibrant. She was alive," he said flatly. _And now she's not. Because you were born. _He looked up at Potter, then back at his wine.

_Not fair, Sev. What are you trying to do – hurt him?_

_Well, he hurt me, damn it!_

_No! Stop it._

He wondered if Potter had picked up Legilimency in the course of his training as an Auror. He'd had the potential – he'd demonstrated that his sixth year. He wondered if he had the strength to use Occlumancy against the man… or if he even wanted to. He so wanted the boy to…

_To what, Sev? To know what you're feeling? Don't even think it. _He realized he was studying Potter's face. _Who are you now? Are you the same? Different? Do I still feel the same? Would I feel the same if I had just met you now – if I'd never known you? But… you'd be a different person, then, wouldn't you, if none of this had ever happened? _Potter was looking back, as if he were studying Snape, as well, his eyes roaming over Snape's face as if trying to make sense of the changes that would be apparent there. _What's he asking himself, I wonder?_

Snape forced himself to focus. "I'm sorry. She was, ahh… she was mischievous. She liked to push her sister, your aunt. She liked to push the edges of her magic, what she could do. It's part of what made her such a brilliant student – in Potions as well as a number of other subjects. She really was quite brilliant, Potter." He paused and looked at the man across from him, watching him in turn, some unfathomable look on his face. Snape was not even tempted to use Legilimency, and wondered at that. "I'm sorry – is this what you wanted to know?"

Potter shrugged and then nodded. "I guess so. Go on."

They waited a moment as Aberforth brought them their meal. Snape put his napkin on his lap and watched Potter do the same, his movements precise, graceful, despite his appearance. The man fell on the meal as if he hadn't eaten in a week. Snape thought he rather looked like it, too, wondering again at his gauntness. _Six years, five months… seventeen days… What happened? _It made him… uncomfortable… sad, maybe. He couldn't find the right word.

_Don't go there, _he told himself, not even letting himself remember where _there _was. He picked up knife and fork, cut into his meat, took a bite and continued to watch Potter devour his meal. "What else did you want to know?"

"Just… more," Potter said, waving with his knife.

Snape swallowed, clasped his hands over his plate again, and thought a moment. _Lily… _"When she was sorted into Gryffindor…" he began.

_1971… twenty years to the day before Potter – this Potter – arrived at Hogwarts, and began to upend his life…_

"…I was… not surprised. Disappointed, but not surprised. She rather showed that Gryffindor tendency in the way she treated your aunt, and… she was fearless," he said, acknowledging it to himself for the first time. "It's probably one of the things I liked about her. She was unintimidated, even though she was Muggleborn. In some ways…"

_Be honest, Sev – in every way._

"… less intimidated than I was. She had the cheek to confront your father and Black… as well as Lupin... about their misbehavior in a way that I never really did. I tended to shrink from it, to try to get back at them behind their backs without actually ever confronting them, other than a snide remark here and there. She stood up to them. She went toe-to-toe with James more than once, and quite regularly told off your godfather."

He paused to remember that. The boy glanced up at him from time to time as he talked, but seemed to focus on his meal. It was strange – a strange feeling, talking like this with Potter… just talking. He'd never done that before. Not that he hadn't thought about it, wished he had the chance…

"She was Slughorn's favorite. That was more than a little annoying to me, as I was working rather hard at Potions at the time. But your mother – she always succeeded with every potion that she attempted. It drove me crazy. I tried to best her, and almost never could. It made me study harder, kept my nose in my damned books. That… did not go down well with your dad. Or with Sirius. Sirius was… your godfather was… he had a natural intellect. He got things right without trying. He never studied – not that I saw. He never cared, either, and still pulled straight O's on everything. Never missed a tick, that man…"

Potter chuckled a little. It sounded… better.

"Lupin… your Defense teacher… third year, was it?" It was starting to blur a bit. He was starting to lose track of it. So much had happened… It frightened him to forget, as if he would lose even the memory of what he had lost. He looked up at Potter and watched him, tried to memorize him. _This is Potter now,_ he said to himself. _Move forward from here. This is where we are now._

"Yeah."

Snape nodded. "Third. Lupin, on the other hand, was a studious sort. He read at least as much as I did. He never really told your dad or Sirius off. It's probably the only reason I ever took a dislike to him. He never stood up to them. He just laughed at them. And… he was included." _That still hurt, damn it._ "He balanced them out, I think. Your dad was… he was arrogant. I'm sorry, Potter, but it's the truth."

_It was, wasn't it? Yes… he was almost certain that was true. _The boy did not protest, nodded in fact, as if he accepted it. That was… different.

"He… took everything for granted – his acceptance, his grades, his attractiveness to girls… his attractiveness to your mother… In some ways, he was everything I wasn't. He was good-looking, athletic, wealthy – or at least, well-to-do… clearly indulged by his parents. At least, he seemed to have everything he wanted and needed, whereas I… was in second-hand clothes most of the time, and used books and…" He snorted. "Certainly no _girls_ following me around."

_Not that that mattered…_

Potter had stopped mid-chew, and was looking at him strangely.

"What?"

Potter hesitated but just shook his head and gestured for him to go on.

"I was… probably more like Remus. Remus and I should have been friends… But we weren't, because he hung around with that damned Potter boy. Sorry, Potter. And…" Snape sighed, "…in some ways that's something I'll always regret, because… I liked him," he said, his voice soft with remembrance. "Not that I ever told him that." He laughed on a soft snort. "Not that I ever would have."

Potter stopped chewing again and looked at him curiously. Snape looked down and flicked a crumb off his sleeve. _Careful, Sev…_

"Your mother… she would look at Remus in disgust, but only because she thought he ought to be riding herd on your dad and your godfather. Pettigrew, of course, just went along. He was the… mascot of the group. I think his job was simply to admire the rest of them and make them feel good."

He paused again, lost in thought, remembering them. "All four of them – all five of them – drove me crazy. Lily because she and I had been friends first, and…" He laughed sadly. "You'd have thought that would have counted for something but… It was my fault really. James and I got into a fight. Of course we were always in a fight. We hated each other on sight. Or he hated me anyway, and so I hated him. And… your mother… stood up for me a number of times, even when James berated her for it. To tell the truth, it only made it worse. He probably was trying to get her attention from the first time he saw her, and the fact that she and I were friends galled him – to no end, and…" He sighed. "And so… whenever she'd stand up for me, he'd wait until she had turned away, and he'd only redouble the attack, whatever it was – hanging me upside down, or tying my shoelaces together, or 'accidentally' bumping into me so I would drop my books, or… any of those things… Calling me names… '_Snivellus_.' _Gods_, how I hated that!"

Potter made a sympathetic sound. Snape shrugged one shoulder irritatedly, and shook his head, trying to shake off _that _memory. He looked up at the man across the table from him, felt nearly humiliated anew, acknowledging it to him, wondering if Potter could pick the images from his mind like he had that one disastrous, final Occlumancy lesson. He'd never figured out whether he had let the boy in on purpose. He suspected he had. _Why? _He'd asked himself that, once. More than once, really. _Because I wanted you to know me, _he thought at the man, wondering again if Potter could read him that easily now… still. He almost wanted him to.

_Tell the truth, Sev._

_I do want him to._

He shook his head and went on, trying to talk through the pain of it. "And no matter what I did, I just couldn't seem to… couldn't seem to get the edge. I couldn't seem to… Nothing I did made them stop, of course." He snorted. "I don't think I _tried_ to make them stop. I think I _wanted_ him to keep acting out – because I wanted Lily to see him as a… as the bully… and she did, actually. She did – for a long time, anyway."

Potter was watching him, not moving, not saying anything… just watching. Snape almost couldn't take it in. _Why are you here, Potter? _He was afraid to take it in, he realized. It seemed… unreal. It had been six years, five months, seventeen days. It felt like he was talking to some _ghost_ of Potter, some illusion. _Gods, I hope I'm not hallucinating!_ He thought that might actually be possible.

Potter looked like he wanted to protest something, but didn't know how to phrase it. "Did you think it was love at first sight?" Snape asked. That didn't hurt. He thought that odd. But then again, it wasn't Lily anymore… had not been Lily… not for a long time now… _not for fourteen years, two months, and twenty days_.

Potter shook his head. "No… I… I knew that she thought him a berk… for a while, anyway."

"Yes. And… and then one day he managed to use a _Levicorpus_ on me… outside, in front of the oak tree, in front of everybody. It was summer, so we weren't wearing much under our robes anyway, and I had been late for class that morning, so I just tossed my robes on and ran, and he... hung me upside down. And there I was in my BVDs and… old ones, at that, and… Everybody made fun of me. Everybody laughed. Your mother was there…"

His stomach twisted at the memory of it – still. It still burned like hell. Potter watched him, his fork frozen halfway to his mouth. Snape barely noticed.

"I'd never been so humiliated in my life," he said shakily. "And… she… rounded on him, and… He _left _me… _hanging _there, God damn it, while he _argued _with her, while she argued with him about letting me down. And then he finally did and I just… I wanted to die. I just wanted to die."

He snorted and shook his head again, looking up at Potter. The man had put down his knife and fork and was staring at Snape as if he were trying to figure something out… as if _he _were guilty, not his father. Snape shook his head.

"And I used that damned word on her… _Mudblood._"He was still ashamed of that… still regretted it… would always regret it. "And… that was the end of it. Six years of friendship, and I threw it all away in a single word," Snape said quietly, looking away.

Strange how that didn't hurt anymore, the loss of Lily's friendship. He could work up an anger for it… a sense of sadness, but… other things hurt worse now._ Potter… Gods, that hurt. Damn it! What was he here for? Merlin, it hurt! _He tried to fight it off.

"Where was I?" He looked up at the man.

"_Mudblood_," Potter said without inflection. His face was as empty as his voice.

Snape nodded. He wondered if Potter hated him for that. "She didn't forgive your dad right away. She made him work for it. She really made him work for it – a lot. I don't think they actually became friends at all, really, until seventh year. By then, she and I had been not speaking to each other for better than a year. A year and a half, almost, even on summer vacation. And…"

_Lily._

_Go away, Severus. I don't want to talk to you._

_Lily, can't we just talk about it? I'm sorry. I said I was sorry._

_No. Go away. I don't hang out with Death Eaters._

_I'm not a Death Eater._

_Not yet. Just because you're not old enough. At least James and his friends know right from wrong. Go away. Leave me alone._

"My fault…" He inhaled and blew it out. "He grew up, frankly – James. I don't think I ever really wanted to acknowledge that. He came back seventh year… I don't know what happened."

"His parents – my grandparents – died."

"Is that what it was? I never knew." _Was it Voldemort, even then? He didn't want to know. "_He came back more… serious. He still had that mischievous glint in his eye, but he… applied himself to his studies, earned great grades. He… ah… he and Lupin and Sirius all settled down, frankly, and… They were quite good students. And they were… good men, by then. Not that they didn't get into trouble. They did. They brought in fire whiskey when they shouldn't have, and Merlin knows what else they were doing."

"They were using the Shrieking Shack for Lupin, for his transformations," Potter said.

"Yes. I know that now, but at the time, though I had my suspicions, I didn't know that for a fact, and…" Snape shook his head ruefully. "I followed them one time, actually. Sirius told me how to get under the Whomping Willow, and I'd seen Remus go in. I wanted to know what he was doing. James hauled my ass out of there. I always blamed him for it, but the truth was, I'd been spying on them and overheard what I wasn't meant to hear, and they let something drop about something going on in the Shack, and if I followed up on that, it was more my intent to try to get them into trouble than anything else."

Potter was nodding as if he knew this. Snape wondered if Lupin or Sirius had… _No – was it Dumbledore who had told the boy? Or was that in the memories he had shared with the boy, that last effort to give him something, anything, to use to save himself? _ He didn't remember.

"He did save my life. I'm sure… they would have had a hard time restraining Lupin in his werewolf form. He wasn't taking Wolfsbane at the time. It's tricky, and it would have meant coming out as a werewolf, and that would have put paid to his school career. But their presence helped him stay calm. I realized that after the fact. Having his friends with him in their animagus form helped him stay centered. The three of them, somehow, brilliantly, figured out how to transform, become animagi. Illegal, really, because not a one of them was registered at the Ministry, of course."

"What difference does that make?" Potter said, somewhat defensively.

Snape cocked his head at him. "I don't mean it as a criticism," he said quietly, wondering if the boy would be angry with him, would take insult and leave. _Of course he's going to leave… _"Just a fact."

Potter hunched his shoulders for a minute, then shrugged irritably. "Sorry."

Snape nodded, relieved. "If we had known – if Dumbledore had known – we might have… figured out what Pettigrew was up to sooner… and saved your godfather that hell in Azkaban, at the least…"

_And what would that have been like for you, then? Saved you ten years in that hellhole you grew up in… at the least… _

"But that didn't happen. It about killed me when I heard that he and your mother were engaged. James, I mean. But by then, I hadn't spoken to her since graduation, of course. We sort of made up, that last year, but… not enough. And I was… I told myself it didn't matter. I was already involved with Voldemort… and… all that gang… Looking for… something… family… a place to belong…" _Looking in the wrong place, for the wrong thing, from the wrong man… _"Some things aren't worth it," he said softly.


	4. Chapter 4

The Usual Disclaimer: Jo's lovely, lovely characters and setting; my plot messing around with it. No knuts... not a single knut... in my vault in Gringotts... So pay me in reviews, please? Thanks.

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"Some things aren't worth it," Snape said softly.

He looked down at his plate, pushed some food around, and looked back up to see the boy watching him, hunched over his plate, hands clenched below the table. It was strange… his face kept flickering from boy to man and back – Potter, the boy in his memory, overlaid on Potter, the man in front of him, the man's face pushing aside the boy's. They were much the same in some ways, but different in ways that made Snape's heart ache – the same eyes, haunted now… the same face, but older, worn… _How could that be? He's only twenty-five. _The same scar, lighter now… the same smile, when he let it show, although… sadder… or something._ The boy was still there, though, wasn't he? He hoped so._ He looked away again. It hurt. _Six years, five months, seventeen days... Damn, he had missed him… It had made him empty… had made his life empty… meaningless._

"I'm sorry… where was I?"

"Why did you stay – with the Death Eaters?"

He shifted uncomfortably in his chair. _It was just his wounds… and the chair was hard. That's all._ "I don't know. I think it was just… somewhere to _belong._ I had no friends, no family. I just… I just wanted… _something_. And even though I had some misgivings about what they were doing, what they said, even though I winced every time Lucius used the word 'Mudblood' – I really wanted to punch his mouth – I didn't let that dissuade me. I tried to convince myself, I think, that I was right – that Lily wasn't worth it, that… some other… woman, maybe, would be… a Pure-blood would be… but… that was not going to be. I was fooling… I was lying to myself. I did that a lot. I did that a lot."

His voice trailed off. He knew damned well what he lied to himself about… but that was not what the man needed to know. He shook himself and got back on track.

"And then – I don't even remember what I was doing here, but I saw Dumbledore go up the stairs to talk to some woman… weirdest looking woman…" He laughed hollowly. "Gods, she was strange! Even then. I don't think she changed, actually, over time. I think she stayed exactly the same. She looked pretty much as she did when you were her student – same absurd, thick glasses, and all those talismans and charms hanging off of her… I thought he was consulting a seer about something, and I thought it might be interesting to know what he was up to, so I crept up the stairs when Aberforth's back was turned, and listened at the door."

Potter's eyes flicked to the staircase and back to him. Snape could feel it at his back… could practically smell it – the goats, the food, the sound of people talking in murmurs… Aberforth behind the counter, looking the other way for just a moment, long enough for Snape, at nineteen, to slip up the stairs in the dimness, dark cloak helping him to slip past unnoticed, to listen at the door.

"And she was just begging for a teaching position. That's all she was doing. I was about to turn away. I was disgusted – there was no point to being there… and then… her voice changed, and it made the hair on the back of my neck stand on end."

Potter rubbed the back of his own neck, as if he recognized that feeling.

"And I froze," Snape went on, "and I listened. And I heard… some of it. Thank God I didn't hear all of it. Though, maybe it would have been better if I had – I don't know. But I heard some of it and I, ah…" He sighed. "I must have made a noise. Dumbledore suddenly stopped talking and I heard him – I heard footsteps coming toward the door. And I turned away and I ran. Aberforth was coming up the stairs. I about knocked him over, but to tell you the truth, he was a big man, and… He probably would have flattened me, had he caught me, if he knew what I was doing. I didn't belong upstairs anyway. And … I fled." _Like the coward I am._

Potter was frozen, watching him. He wondered what the man thought of that… hearing about the day it all began, the day it all changed, the day that led to… all of it. He felt sick, himself. He pushed his plate away before he continued.

"It took me a while to… first of all, to figure out that it was worthwhile to tell the Dark Lord, and then to get access. I was nineteen." _Nineteen years, five months, twelve days. He'd figured that out sometime in the last six years. But what did that matter? He'd known better. Hadn't he?_

"He was surrounded by older men and women in their thirties, and forties and fifties, and… there was no particular reason why he should have talked to me. He was… fifty-three at the time, I think." _I should figure that out. _"There was no reason for him to talk to me, a kid. I just wanted him to… _see_ me. I just wanted _someone_ to _see_ me. I wanted to matter… to someone." He'd never said that before. Not aloud… not even to himself. "But… _Gods,_ what was I thinking?" He put his hands to his forehead, elbows propped on the table, shaking his head repeatedly, shielding his eyes from the boy. _Coward._

Potter made some sound, but did not turn it into words. It didn't matter. Snape could not bring himself to look at him. _Merlin, Hecate, and all the gods in heaven! What am I doing, talking like this?_

_Finish it, Severus. Damn it. Tell the truth!_

"I… I wanted to work my way up to him," he said, looking down at the table. "So I started attending meetings, and paying attention, and looking like _a good little Death Eater… _and… but… even though I had the Mark, you just don't get an audience with the Dark Lord – especially not alone. For one thing, Bellatrix Lestrange was always hanging on his arm. But I managed it in the end. I don't even remember how we happened to be in a room together alone. Ordinarily, I'd have been quaking. He was a frightening figure, even then."

The man across from him was staring at him. He could feel it. _I wonder if he's reading me? _He didn't bother to invoke Occlumancy. _What's the point? If he reads me, I won't have to say it. _What the _it _was, he was not sure.

"I should have known. I just wasn't paying attention." He stopped and shook his head, chiding himself. "I did know. I just wasn't… I just wasn't looking for… _the right thing_. And so I… I told him what I'd heard. And he swore me to secrecy, of course."

_As if I'd have survived that! Gods, I was a fool! How could I have…?_

"I said I would – keep it secret, I mean. But then he started some plans… The meetings of the Death Eaters became a little more organized, a little more focused, a little more intense, and… ah… Several weeks later, I realized what he intended to do… that he intended to… He'd done some research… had Mulcibur do some research with his contacts at St. Mungo's, find out who was being treated for prenatal care. There were only two – two babies due to be born at the end of July to couples who had defied him – the Longbottoms and the Potters."

He couldn't look at the boy, so he stared at his hands rather than Potter. _You should hate me. Gods, you should still hate me! _His hands shook._ What am I doing here? What are __you__ doing here?_

"Neville's parents had… I don't know why he didn't choose them. I think it's because they were Pure-blood. I think Lily's Muggle origins offended him, reminded him of himself. The fact that you would have been, if not a half-blood, at least born to a Muggleborn – I think it enraged him."

"It's because he was half-blood himself, wasn't it?"

Snape nodded at his hands. "I think so. I didn't know that, then. None of us did, he was so focused on his Pure-blood mania. I think there was something about that – the fact that Lily had been a Muggle… I think it was left-over rage from his father or something – I don't know. But for some reason, he focused on Lily and James, instead of the Longbottoms. Focused on you, really, even though you weren't born yet. He started making plans… to murder them. Murder you."

He looked up at Potter for a moment. The man's eyes were studying him intently. "I think that… Of course, if you'd been born three days later, if Neville had been the only one born the end of July… if Lily had miscarried… if…"

Potter made a sound of protest.

"I know. I don't know. It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter. There's… it doesn't matter. It just… it came out to be you, and he spent… a long time planning, but he…"

Snape drew a shaky breath and glanced up at the man. His green eyes were nearly dull – fatigue, maybe… but they focused on Snape. He didn't even think about why he was telling Potter this. He just kept talking, as if he'd been saving it up all these years, wanted the man to know.

"I went to Dumbledore. As soon as I knew that he was planning to kill them – any of them." _I was… what was it? Nineteen years, nine months, two days. _"I told Dumbledore that it was because it was Lily, but I… I… I couldn't. I couldn't. I couldn't let it go. He was going to kill a _baby! _I don't think I really understood, until that moment, what a sick bastard he was. I'd have warned about the Longbottoms, too, but… he'd already focused on Lily and James. So I told Dumbledore… and I begged him to protect the three of you."

He shook his head. _Tell the truth, Sev._

"I begged Dumbledore to protect _Lily_. And I begged _the Dark Lord_ to spare Lily. He told me I could have any woman I wanted, that it didn't have to be a Muggleborn, that it… I was intent on that – that he would spare her. But I knew even then that he wasn't a trustworthy man, and…"

He looked up at Potter and searched his face. _For what? _He was begging. He knew it. "I'm sorry." His stomach twisted. "I'm… I'm sorry. I…" He stopped. Potter just frowned at him as if he was trying to figure something out.

He needed to say this, at least once… to be honest about it. "She _loved_ James. And I was sure she would love her child… and I couldn't do that to her. So – for Lily, not for James, not for you, because you weren't even there, of course, and I didn't care. You were going to be James' son, so _I didn't care_," he said honestly. The boy's eyes filled with… hurt, maybe. _Of course._

_Do you understand, Potter? I didn't care… there was a time when I didn't care._

_No. Don't go there._

"But for Lily – I asked Dumbledore to protect all three of you. To warn Lily and James, to put all of you in protective custody and… he did, but he… exacted a price. I'd have done anything. I'd have done _anything_," he said quietly, intently, almost to himself. "And… he asked me to spy… for the Order… So I did."

He blew out a long breath. "_Holy crap_," he said softly, looking down and shutting his eyes on the memory. Even now, he couldn't believe it – even now, looking back on it. _Dear Merlin, he was a dead man. From that moment, he was dead._

Potter held still, barely breathing, as if he, too, was stunned at the memory.

"I told Voldemort… No – we got word to Voldemort that I couldn't be at the meetings for a while because I'd come down with Spattergroit. He sent Lucius to check on me. We fixed it up so that I looked ill. I _was_ ill. Dumbledore gave me something, and it… it made me ill, made it look like I was seriously ill. And Lucius… Spattergroit is highly contagious, so he didn't come close enough to tell that wasn't quite it. And… given that it's a long illness, it gave me and Dumbledore months to work on setting up the protections around your home in Godric's Hollow…"

Potter grunted in surprise at that.

"… and to… for me to learn Occlumancy. Dumbledore, of course, knew Occlumancy and Legilimency. And he drilled me. Mercilessly. He was angry at me. He was _disgusted _with me. He _hated _me. And I didn't blame him, because I hated myself, and he…" He sighed heavily again, his eyes looking past Potter, into the distant past, remembering it, how it almost overcame him, how he had _let _Dumbledore hurt him, because – he deserved it, didn't he? "He… attacked me – over and over and over. And at first, I just let him. And he kept hollering at me, '_What good is that to anybody? What good is that going to be to anybody? You promised. You said you'd do anything._' He called me names. Made _Snivellus_ look like child's play – which of course it was."

Potter made some wordless sound and Snape looked up. The boy looked sickened, almost angry. Snape shook his head and his lips twisted.

"I finally – _finally – _fought back, which of course was not what was necessary. And then, I finally learned it. Because it was getting closer to when Lily's child was going to be born, and… I needed to know… I needed to know what Voldemort was going to be doing. I needed to know if he knew, know if he… I needed to know. I needed to do it to protect Lily. So I learned it, learned Occlumancy. And I practiced it, and I practiced it, until even Dumbledore couldn't get through."

As if on command, he felt that wall come up. _No! _He fought it down. _Not anymore. I'm done with hiding, damn it! No, Severus! _He looked across at Potter and forced his mind open, willing himself to let the man read him, if he wanted… _even that… even the way he felt. _It was far too late to hide it from himself… and… _Be honest, Sev. Tell the truth. _He did not _want _to hide it from the Auror across from him. Potter did not penetrate his mind, but he left that option open, made himself maintain contact with those green eyes, despite that it hurt to do so, willed the man to read him, if he wished.

"And then I practiced pulling out everything I thought and felt, and dumping it into vials, and his Pensieve, and… whatever… so that, on the chance that Voldemort could get through, or could sense the Occlumancy, that…" He shook his head, and looked up at the ceiling as if some memory of it was plastered there. "… that there'd be nothing left in my mind for him to find."

"It hurt, the first time… ripping those memories out… I felt… empty, confused… I remember asking Dumbledore '_Who am I?' _Not that I didn't know my name… I just didn't know… why I was… why I lived."

His voice shook and he struggled to gain mastery of it. Potter did not interrupt, and he was grateful. "And every damned time I went to a meeting… I'd pull almost everything I ever knew or felt about your mother, about James, about Dumbledore and what we'd been doing…" He inhaled deeply, still remembering how frightening that was, how it left him empty. "…out of my head, and give it to Dumbledore… _for safe keeping… _in that damned Pensieve of his. And every time I came back, I let him in – Dumbledore – let him read me, let him pull everything I heard, did, thought, felt…" He snorted softly. "… every pee I took… out of my brain so that he'd know that I was telling the truth. Because of course, he didn't trust me. No reason why he should have. Hell, I didn't trust myself."

He could not look up, did not want to see the look on Potter's face. _Coward._

"Do you know what that's like? No secrets. Not how often you fart or whether you pick your nose or what fantasies you masturbate to… not what you wish had happened, not your hates and loves and the things that make your soul curdle in shame… He demanded all of it… and _I let him_."

_Why am I telling him this? Why am I telling him this? He doesn't need to know…_

"And then I had to _trust him_…to pour everything back in. And I felt everything all over again. Every time he poured it back into me, I felt it. Like it had just happened. And every time I went to a meeting of the Death Eaters, Voldemort, he'd…" He inhaled sharply.

Potter made a sound of protest, but Snape ignored it.

"Unpredictably, he'd turn his own powers of Legilimency on… any of us. And he took delight in it. It was like raping people. It _is _raping people. And I was no more, no less susceptible to that at that point than anyone else. He didn't want to make me look different, so the others wouldn't come asking questions. It wasn't until he came back that it increased. Because by then I was his _right hand man…_"

He sneered at that. He still hated himself for it. He did still hate himself for it.

"I had information on Dumbledore and _the great Harry Potter_ to share with him. So every time I went to a meeting, once again, I'd dump some things into the Pensieve, into vials, use Occlumancy to tighten a small part, tuck it down until it was so tiny and so lost in everything else that I knew and thought and felt that he would have a hard time finding it, let alone opening it up. When Dumbledore… After Dumbledore died, I had to find a different way, so I dumped it into vials, and left myself a note – _Vial number 80… Vial number 81… Take it back._ The year you were born... the year you became an orphan, because…"

_No! Don't go there!_

He stopped, gathering his courage.

"And then I'd let him rape me again. But it was no more than what I deserved." He stopped, swallowed, mastered himself and realized he'd been rambling. He looked up to find Potter staring at him, frozen, and he suddenly remembered that _he_ had penetrated _Potter's_ mind that way. "I'm sorry," he whispered hoarsely, and turned his eyes to his plate so that the man wouldn't see his tears. "I'm sorry." He sat frozen in misery and guilt for a while. _Gods, I'm no better than Voldemort. _His stomach twisted with it.

"Professor…"

"I'm sorry." He drew a breath through clenched teeth. It hurt. "What was your question?" His voice was tight with the need to hold back his tears and his self-hatred. "Your mother. That has nothing to do with your mother. I apologize."

Potter was pale, his food gone cold, his hands clasped tightly over his uneaten food. "No. It's… it's what I came for, I think, Professor. I… I think that's… I think I needed to know about that."

Snape looked at him a while and shook his head, disoriented. "What are you doing here, Potter?"

The man hesitated for a long while. "I'm not sure."

"There's something else you should know, Potter."

He wasn't sure how to say this. He had never said it aloud before, never put it into words, even though he knew it.

"One of the reasons that I was so hard on you, in addition to…" He gritted his teeth. "…all the rest of it – wishing I'd… been the one to marry Lily…"

_Was that true? Why say that? Don't say that. That's not true… not anymore, if it was ever true. Tell the truth, Severus._

"… wishing your father had… drowned in the Black Lake on his way over to school… wishing that I'd never said that word… wishing I'd died before I ever heard that damned prophecy – in addition to that, Potter, one of the reasons that I was so hard on you is that…" And his voice shook. "…you reminded me of… myself. And… I don't think I could stand that. I didn't want to stand that. I just thought you ought to know." _That was not all of it, but… it was enough… close enough. _He laughed weakly. "That's an insult. I apologize for that, too."

"No. Professor… it's not an insult. I… don't… think it's accurate… but it's not an insult."

"If you say so."


	5. Chapter 5

**The Usual Disclaimer:** I wish these lovely men were mine, but they are not. We are blessed that Jo Rowling allows them to play with us, and visa versa. She doesn't charge us for the privilege... and we get nothing from it but the joy of friendship. And reviews. Please. Thank you.

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"No. Professor… it's not an insult. I… don't… think it's accurate… but it's not an insult."

"If you say so."

They talked a while longer, Potter asking questions, Snape answering, sometimes with difficulty, sometimes flatly, sometimes with a dry laugh. But he answered every question truthfully – as truthfully as he could, trying to be honest with the boy. He had no stomach for lies – not anymore… not to Potter, anyway. Maybe to himself… though he tried to be honest with himself, too, when he could.

He couldn't really take it in. It had been six years… _and five months… and seventeen – no eighteen days, now – it's after midnight. Wait – do I count that? … _since he'd seen the boy. It was surreal to sit here, with Potter across from him, over dinner. It was surreal. Maybe it _wasn't_ real. He shook his head repeatedly, trying to clear it, trying to determine if he was sleeping, dreaming, or if he had finally lost his mind altogether, the counting no longer tethering him to reality. It almost didn't matter. He almost didn't care.

He ate a bit more – not much, but some – as they talked. He still had difficulty with heavier meals, his system permanently damaged by Nagini's venom. He had elderberry wine to drink, as that was easier on his stomach. He nursed a single glass through the meal, while the younger man downed not one or two, but three fire whiskeys.

Potter lurched to his feet when Snape stood to go, then nearly unbalanced, coming around the table to shake hands with him. Snape caught him in time to keep him from falling over. "Where are you going tonight, Potter?

Potter waved a hand vaguely. "Away."

"How?

"Appar… Apparate."

"Like hell you are! You'll probably apparate yourself into oblivion in this state."

"Really?" Potter said, and just for a moment, he looked sober, almost thoughtful.

Snape's heart thudded in alarm. "Let's not risk that," he said. "If you're going to do away with yourself, I'd rather you do it sober – and out of my presence, so there are no awkward questions afterward."

_Keep him safe… keep him safe… keep him safe. _It beat at him with every heartbeat… and he did not know if he resented it – that it still pounded through his veins like that, or if it… filled the emptiness… a bit.

Potter snorted, but did not protest when Snape threw his cloak over his shoulders, grabbed him by the arm to steady him, and marched him out the door and down the lane. He oriented himself, looking at the stars, taking inventory of all his senses, reassuring himself that he was coherent enough himself, and then Apparated them directly to Hogwarts' gates. He murmured the chant that let them inside the ward, reset it, and turned to find Potter gazing up at the castle, ablaze with lights. His eyes followed Potter's to the windows at the top of the Astronomy Tower, where Dumbledore fell…to Gryffindor Tower, where the boy Potter had once lived.

"I always thought it was beautiful," Potter said. There was more to that statement, Snape thought, as if the boy was going to take part of it back, but he did not ask for it.

"Come on, then. Filch is likely to have locked the doors. We'll have to hope he's in a charitable mood."

They set off across the grounds. Potter glanced once toward Hagrid's cabin, then away, as if he did not really want to know if the half-giant was there. Snape waited for him to suggest they stop, but when he did not, they continued toward the front entrance, Snape occasionally putting out a hand when Potter looked likely to topple over. _What the hell? _It hurt to see him like this. He resented it… that it hurt… that it scared him… that the boy looked this way.

They were in luck. The front doors were still unlocked. When Potter turned to head toward the dungeons, Snape stopped him. "Not that way." He turned them toward Gryffindor Tower and his rooms at the base.

Potter followed with more listlessness than curiosity. His lips twitched, though, when they stopped in front of the door to Snape's quarters. "I should have remembered," he said. "McGonagall's Headmistress."

"Yes."

"I'd heard they made you a Gryff." Potter laughed, but it was a hollow sound. "Congratulations."

Snape wasn't sure if he meant that or was being facetious. _Does he think I don't deserve to be here?_ The thought hurt. He fended it off and did not bother to reply. He unwarded the door, uttered his password, and opened it, gesturing for Potter to precede him into the rooms. He took off his cloak and scarf and hung them on a peg on the wall, watching the younger man turn in a circle to inspect his rooms in the dim light from the banked fire. He saw him take in the doors, assessing risks and weaknesses. _Auror training. _He did not bother to tell the man his quarters were warded. Potter would have detected that, if he were half the auror Snape expected. He waved a hand to light just one of the lamps, grateful for the relative dimness, for some reason he did not want to examine.

"Nice place you've got here."

"Yes. Better than the dungeons. Not so damp."

"I bet," Potter said, turning to him. Snape saw him take in the scars that still marred his hands and wrists and that were still visible at the neckline of his shirt. He was used to that, though – the looks the scars earned him. He didn't even twitch, though the scars prickled in a way he had thought was long over.

"Take your cloak for you," he said.

The boy absently handed him his cloak, and Snape hung it alongside his own. He Accio'd a potion from his lab and a glass from his kitchen, and poured a finger of the potion. "You'd better drink this," he said, handing the glass to the… man, "or you'll have a hell of a hangover tomorrow morning."

Potter laughed at him. "Why would that be any different?"

Snape shook his head again and said, "Do it. I'll not have you drunk on my sofa, Potter. I have no interest in having to clean up vomit."

Potter shrugged irritably, almost insolently, took the proffered glass and downed it in one gulp.

Snape lifted his chin at him. "You'd best lay down. That'll have you knocked out in five minutes."

The man wandered over to the sofa by the fire and sat down, swinging his feet up, his back against one of the bolster pillows at the end. He closed his eyes. It took a moment for Snape to realize he had fallen asleep. _Auror training_.

He shook his head, troubled. He walked over and looked down at the man, his face relaxed in sleep, but still gaunt… _ravaged_, Snape thought. _Potter… what have you done to yourself? _He tried to reconcile this face, this body, with the boy as he'd last seen him. _Merlin… what have you done to yourself? Six years, five months, seventeen – no, eighteen – days… What the hell happened to you?_

His heart ached for the boy… and something else he could not name just then flitted through him… memories, maybe. He hesitated, some impulse almost finding its way into action, then turned toward more practical things. He summoned a blanket and pillow from his room, threw the first over the boy, and left the pillow within reach on the floor. He turned to go to his room.

"Thank you, Professor," came a soft voice at his back.

He turned back and looked at the man. His eyes were glittering in the firelight. "Anytime, Potter. Anything you need," he said quietly. He turned and went into his room.


	6. Chapter 6

**The Usual Disclaimer**: Thank you, Jo Rowling, for letting us play with your toys. We promise not to sell them without your express permission. But if we play nicely, perhaps other people will give us compliments, yes? *eyes readers wistfully*

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_Friday, October 18, 2005_

In light of the fact that Potter had not used the restroom at the Hog's Head, Snape assumed he'd need to use the bathroom later. He left the door to his room open, changed into sleep pants and an undershirt, and tried for a half hour to meditate, unsuccessfully trying to clear his mind, remove all emotion, still the counting, the relentless inventory – though that stuttered a bit. _Do I count? Do I start over?_ The boy had him… unsettled. He didn't resent it… but… _Merlin… I'm terrified._

_Of what?_

_Of it hurting all over again, _he realized_. Sweet Hecate, I can't do this! _He put his head in his hands and tried to tell himself he was trembling with cold, not anything else. _Tell the truth, Severus._

_I'm scared._

_Of what?_

_Of caring. Of wanting… something. Of losing again._

He got into bed and lay on his back, trying to keep his ears from straining to hear Potter's breathing from the other room, trying to figure out the tug of war in his heart: _Go… Stay… Gods! It already hurt… _before he fell into a troubled sleep.

Sometime during the night, he was awakened by the boy at the door to his room.

"Need the loo," Potter said sleepily.

Snape waved his hand toward the water closet and rolled over, away from the light. He listened to the sounds of… someone else… in his bathroom… someone who was, and wasn't, Potter… and tried to figure out why his heart hurt, and why tears rolled from his eyes to soak into his pillow. It wasn't until well after he heard the boy shuffle back to the sofa that his aching heart and his confused, uncertain counting let him fall back to sleep.

He waited until Potter used the bathroom a second time before he got up, feigning sleep until the boy left his room. _Why was that? _He shoved the question away, turning his mind to the day's Potions lessons. He closed his door and set the ward, for some reason – wanting privacy, perhaps – then drew his bath. He made rather more haste of it than was his wont, mindful of Potter in the other room, but dressed with care. He was always better in the morning, always less… empty. Potions lessons to be taught, students to supervise, colleagues to see… Minerva checking on him… He could hear sounds in the other room. _Not my imagination, then. _He was relieved. _Gods, _he was scared!

"Better?" he asked when he left his room. Potter was sitting on the sofa, hanging his head in his hands. "Bit of a hangover?" Snape said, a remnant of the snide tone he used to use with the boy in his voice.

Potter looked up at him. "I don't have a drinking problem."

"No? Couldn't prove it by last night."

"Yeah… well… that was… different."

Snape snorted. "There's time for a bath before breakfast," he said pointedly, raising the towel in his hands to dry his hair.

Potter's lips twitched in amusement as he took in Snape's wet head. "Wouldn't a _Tergio_ work, Professor?"

"It's Severus, Potter, unless you intend to take up classes again. You never did get your NEWTs, as I recall. And no – not unless I want dry eye sockets." He continued drying his hair, then ran a hand through it to get out the tangles. "There's a clean towel and washcloth, and fresh soap," he said. He checked the clock on his wall – he'd never be able to wear a wristwatch again, with his damaged wrists. "Twenty minutes to breakfast. If you hurry – "

He stopped. Potter was shaking his head. "No, thanks."

"You have to eat, Potter. You're as thin as a bowtruckle."

Potter looked him up and down and said, "You don't look a hell of a lot better."

He knew the boy was right. Recovering from Nagini's attack had been a costly, long journey, one he still had trouble with at times, the bites cleaving through sinew and muscle right down to bone in places. He ached when it rained, ached most of the winter, in fact. His left wrist was ravaged, though he did not mind that so much, as it effectively ripped off the Dark Mark, but it did hurt when he worked too long. He'd lost a third of his body weight. He was thin, yet. He'd have still been gaunt, but for the muscle replenishing potions Poppy had him drink nearly every day for the first three years, Smethwyck monitoring his progress in weekly visits that faded away to monthly, now quarterly. And… he didn't seem to have much appetite anyway… sometimes forgot to eat. Minerva had taken to siccing a house elf on him to make sure he took something at every meal. So he was certainly trimmer… thin, still… would probably never be thick around the waist again, unless he lived a good long time. And the poison seemed to have done something to his thinking. He was sometimes hazy, though Smethwyck said it was emotional, not physical.

He saw Potter watching him, and his mind flicked back to their discussion of the night before. He wondered how much of it the man remembered.

"Better both of us head down to the Great Hall for breakfast, then."

Amusement – or something approaching it, anyway – flitted across Potter's face, but he shook his head. "I'd rather not see… I'd rather not, Severus. Sorry."

Snape's heart gave an alarmed thump. _Oh, gods, don't leave…_

_No. Stop that. Of course he's going to leave. What's he supposed to do – stay? For what?_

_He's not healthy… he needs someone to look after him._

_You?_

_Gods, this is going to hurt again, isn't it?_

_You __can't__ hold him, Sev._

_I can try._

_Merlin…_

He called himself to order. "As you wish. Eat here, then. Just call Elspeth and she'll see you have anything you require." He hesitated, wondering if Potter would be here when he got back, or if he would leave.

"I have class all day. You can join us for lunch if you wish…"

Potter shook his head again, and Snape fended off a wave of… anticipatory grief, maybe… loss… fear. _Why did I bring him here?_

"In any case…" Snape gestured vaguely. "… stay as long as you like. I'll be finished by three. If you want, we can dine here tonight." He hesitated, then added, "_Stay,_ Potter." He tried not to allow himself to add _Please._

Potter looked at him a few moments and something in his face softened, became less cynical, defensive, derisive. "Thanks, Severus. Maybe I'll just… read or something."

A moment's hope flared in him. _Don't. Don't go there, Sev. _He nodded, and hesitated. "If you change your mind about lunch…" Potter shook his head. "Elspeth, then."

"Elspeth," Potter repeated with a nod.

Snape went down to breakfast. _What am I doing? Dear gods, why is he here? Why did I bring him here? What in Merlin's name is going on with him?_ He wondered if he should say something to McGonagall, other than that Potter was on the grounds… or to Longbottom… or send word to Arthur, perhaps. He sighed and shook his head. _Not my prerogative._ _He's a grown man_. _If he needs my help, he'll ask for it._

He wished he knew if that was true.


	7. Chapter 7

**The Usual Disclaimer: **Thanks to Jo for letting us play with her men and in her house. I promise not to sell anything out from under her. If you like, please let me know. Thanks.

* * *

Time passed in uncertain spurts, sometimes speeding by quickly because, as this was Friday, his classes were primarily his advanced students, sometimes pulling at him, dread and hope making him watch the clock, sure the hands had stopped, though he knew that was not possible. No potions disasters disrupted the smoothness of the day. He thought about checking on Potter at lunch, but decided that might be overbearing. And besides, if the boy had not stayed, he didn't think he wanted to know so soon – not when he had to teach this afternoon. And… he was still not sure he hadn't imagined it, he realized, his aching need for the boy in his life overwhelming the clarity of his thinking at last. It would be so easy to slip into that… into wishing… He returned to his quarters at three, his stomach clenching as he murmured the password.

He stepped into his study and paused with his hand on the inner doorknob, searching for any sign that he was right, that Potter was actually here… or that he had ever been here… and, just for a moment, let his head fall back and closed his eyes.

_Thank Hecate and all her sons!_

Potter was asleep on the sofa, face down, one arm trailing off onto the floor, his hand on one of Snape's potions books. His face was turned toward the fireplace. Elspeth must have lit the fire for him. Weak with a relief he tried not to be aware of, Shape walked over and stood looking down at him, studying his profile in the flicker of firelight. He looked exhausted… worn out. He wanted to put his hand on the boy, touch him, prove to himself that Potter was real, and here, and not some ghost prompted into appearing by need and ache and loss. He sighed and shook his head.

The boy had showered and he was in clean clothes – at least a clean shirt and sweater – Snape's. _Well, what did he expect – for the boy to put his dirty, tattered things back on?_ He still wore his worn trousers, though. Snape wondered if he'd put his dirty under things back on or taken some of Snape's, as he'd obviously been in his wardrobe. He decided he didn't want to know.

_What did this to you, Potter? _ He let him sleep. _If he is asleep, he is still here… _

_Stop it, Sev. What's the matter with you?_

He went to his room and changed, used the loo, and came out to sit at his desk, facing the sofa, practically pinning Potter to it with his… heart. It was his heart that was holding him there. He sat with his fingers laced over a bit of parchment and a rapidly-drying quillful of ink, just watching the boy… the man… sleep… watching him breathe… watching his face react to whatever dreams he was having. After a while, he forced himself to turn to his work. He did not count. He did not know how.

He was scratching out a note to Kingsley – his weekly check-in – when he felt he was being watched. He looked up to find Potter's green eyes on him, from where he lay. He put down his quill and linked his hands loosely in front of him. "Sleep well?"

The boy exhaled on a sigh and sat up, rubbing his face. "Yeah. Thanks." He held his arms out to the side. "Borrowed some clothes. I hope you don't mind. You're a bit longer in the arm than me."

"Not at all, Potter. Whatever you need." _He'd have wrapped him in it, if he could…_

_No. Stop._

The boy laughed. "Better be careful what you say, Profess – Severus. I might take you up on that."

"And if you did… what would that entail?" he asked. _I'd do anything…_

Potter canted his head to one side in a way that tugged at Snape's memories. "Oh – I don't know… I'd think of something."

_Anything._

"Well – let's start with dinner, shall we? And some tea."

"Tea?"

"Yes. Tea, Potter. It is a traditional drink, you know."

"Don't you have any fire whiskey?"

"I don't think you need any more fire whiskey, mister."

The man just looked at him. "Despite what it looks like, I don't have a drinking problem, Professor."

He quirked an eyebrow. "No? You couldn't stand up straight last night."

The boy flushed and looked down. "I…" He shook his head. "I might have drunk too much last night." He looked up. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to be a problem."

Snape watched him dubiously and shook his head. Finally he said, quietly, "You're not a problem, Potter."

The man snorted softly and the ghost of a smile appeared on his face. "Tea's fine. Three meals in a day, huh? And ones I don't have to cook? I could get used to this."

Snape shook his head. _What happened?_

Rather than calling down to the kitchen, Snape made dinner for them in his quarters, as he often did when he did not eat in the Great Hall. He sent word to Minerva, so that she would not worry, and so that Neville would keep an eye on the Gryffindors for him. The students adored and respected the Herbology professor, and Snape understood that. He was knowledgeable and fair, kind but firm. He'd had no trouble with discipline or control, even with the Slytherins. Everyone knew the Sword of Godric Gryffindor hung on the wall in his quarters. Snape had talked with him about it once, his killing of the snake that had so nearly killed him. They'd become friends of a sort, to the extent that Snape could allow that… It was possible that, apart from Minerva, Longbottom was the first true friend he'd ever had – at least since Lily Evans.

In any case, he set about making them an early dinner. He was thinking of other things, he realized, trying to fend off his awareness of the boy, who had trailed after him and now leaned on the counter near the doorway, watching him, his eyes glinting in a way that almost pierced Snape. He could feel it. _Breathe_, he told himself_. _He breathed.

"I didn't know you could cook."

Snape did not interrupt what he was doing. "It's much like potions… easy enough. You follow directions, experiment, keep track of what works."

"I'm crap at cooking. Except scrambled eggs and bacon."

Snape said nothing.

"Ginny cooks. She takes after her mother that way." There was a strange tone in Potter's voice.

"How is Ginny?"

"I don't know, actually. I haven't spoken to her in… better than a year, now?" He sounded uncertain. "No… maybe eleven months."

Snape fended off feelings… fended off thoughts. _Focus. _He stirred noodles into boiling water, turned the heat down to a simmer. He dried his hands on a towel and turned to the boy. "What happened? I thought you two were…" He waved a hand. "… an item."

_Careful, Sev._

Potter shrugged. "She's with Neville now."

"So he tells me."

The boy stilled and looked at him.

"I don't know the particulars – only that they're seeing each other. I was just curious. I apologize. It's none of my business…" He trailed off, reached for a spoon, and stirred the noodles.

"No – it's okay," Potter said in a quiet voice. Snape spared a moment to turn his eyes from his cooking to the man. Potter sighed. "We broke up."

Snape snorted. "Obviously," he drawled. Potter's lips twitched. "Someone else then?" Snape asked. _Sev… don't._

Potter laughed – a strange sound. "No. Not exactly."

"Is that why you're…" Snape waved a hand vaguely in the direction of Potter's disheveled pants.

The boy hesitated. "No," he said flatly.

His face had gone blank… haunted, Snape thought. He waited, turning to stir the noodles again. After several long moments, Potter said, "I killed a man."

Snape's heart stopped beating a moment and he nearly gasped. His hand stopped moving and he looked up at the man, his face still, his eyes searching Potter's. _What? Why? How?_ _Why__? _But then he thought… "You're an Auror. That was bound to happen."

Potter picked up an oven mitt and started playing with the loop at its cuff, twirling the mitt absently. "He was… he was a Death Eater. We'd been tracking him for days – weeks, really." He snorted. "It wasn't all that hard – he'd left a trail of dead and injured Muggles. He was a _bad bloke_, Severus…" He sounded desperate.

Snape thought back to the news he'd had from Kingsley… a year… eleven months ago… "McKinnon," he said.

Potter swallowed. "Yes."

Snape nodded. "Good catch."

Potter shrugged, looking uncertain.

"What?"

"He had… a daughter… five years old."

Snape watched him. He hadn't known that. Not that he knew anything about the Death Eaters' personal lives. He hadn't _wanted_ to know.

"People do tend to get married, have children," he said.

Potter's eyes flashed to him. "You didn't."

"No."

Potter took a breath, looked down at his hands twisting the oven mitt, and let it go, watching it uncurl slowly on the counter. His hands trembled and he turned haunted eyes to Snape's.

"I killed him in front of her," he said hoarsely.

_Oh gods…_ Snape put down the spoon he was using, his fingers shaking, and turned to face the man. Potter kept his eyes on him, searching his face… searching for… something. Snape closed his eyes a moment… and found himself right back in it – right back in his desire – his _need _– to protect the boy, to save him. He felt something snap into place, felt oriented, felt his head clear. _Potter… _He opened his eyes and let the boy see his understanding and sorrow. "I'm sorry."

Potter's eyes met his, and filled with tears. "I can't do this, Severus," he whispered. "I can't do this anymore. I'm sorry. I… I'm not cut out for this." The boy bowed his head and tears fell onto his clenched hands.

_Why this? Merlin… wasn't it enough already? He's been through so much… why this?_

Snape put out a hand to grasp the boy's shoulder, but Potter turned into him and grabbed at the front of his shirt, clinging to him as he sobbed. Snape reached one hand to turn off the flame under the pot, and put both arms around the boy, murmuring, "Shh… shh…" He tightened his hold. "It's all right, Potter…" _ Oh, gods, why? _"It's not your fault… it's all right… it'll be all right…"

He let his strong hold on the boy communicate his acceptance and respect and support as Potter sobbed out his grief and remorse. Snape found himself fighting his own tears, threatening his control. He wished he could erase it… take it away… make it untrue… keep it from the boy, protect him. He held him as if he could shield him from it, as he'd tried to shield him before. He rested his chin on the younger man's head against his chest, trying to focus on what the boy needed.

_I'd do anything… _"I'm so sorry," he whispered over the boy's head.

Potter's arms convulsed around him. Snape held onto him for long minutes, until his sobbing quieted, until he finally gathered himself and pulled back, wiping his nose on the sleeve of Snape's sweater. His desire to protect the boy was so strong even _that_ seemed… right.

"You must think I'm…" The boy waved a hand. "Weak… or a coward… or a murderer… or… something."

Snape just looked at him, letting the truth of it show on his face, willing Potter to read it in his mind, but the boy would not hold eye contact. "That's not what I think, Potter."

"Harry."

"Pardon?"

The boy gave a strained laugh. "Don't you think the man wearing your clothes and sniffling on your shirt should have a first name?"

He hesitated. _Yes, but then I'd have to… tell myself the truth. Harry. _His heart squeezed. It hurt. _You can't do this, Sev… _"Of course. My apologies. Force of habit."

"… I'm sorry…"

Snape waved that off. "Anything you need, Potter." He paused and tilted his head as he considered the boy, his heart aching. "Anything."

"There you go again." Potter gave a watery laugh and wiped his eyes. "You'd better watch that."

Snape gave a wry smile and shook his head. _I do a hell of a lot of head shaking around you, Potter. _He always had…He was right back into it again, he realized. The boy always _got_ to him – one way or another, always made him _feel _something – even when he was trying like hell not to feel anything. He'd been gone for six years… _and five months… and seventeen days… _and now here he was – back in Snape's life, standing in Snape's quarters, and _just like that_, he had Snape _feeling_ things again. _Why was that? _He shuttled that off to the side, deferred it for private contemplation. Right now he had to get the boy – the man – into some sort of shape.

"Here," he said, handing him a spoon. "I'll have to do the noodles over. They'll be soggy by now. Stir this sauce up for me, would you?"


	8. Chapter 8

**The Usual Disclaimer: **Thanks to Jo for letting us play with her men and in her house. I promise not to sell anything out from under her. If you like, please let me know. Thanks.

* * *

"Here," he said, handing him a spoon. "I'll have to do the noodles over. They'll be soggy by now. Stir this sauce up for me, would you?"

They cooked side by side at the stove. Snape waved his wand to set the table in his study, and Potter laid out napkins, Snape noted, amused, given the boy's apparent inattention to hygiene lately. They sat across from each other at the table. Potter ate, and Snape watched him from under his brow, wondering whether to say something more about the story.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Potter closed his eyes and shook his head. He put down his fork and raised a hand to his forehead. "It was easier when I was younger. There were Death Eaters and Voldemort – and then there was everyone else."

"There was never 'everyone else,' Potter. You know that, as well as I do. You think that any of us were… that Dumbledore was… a saint?"

Potter twitched a shoulder. "No. No, not at all. He used us. You, me. And he – despite what he said, he still had that drive for power. It's what killed him. He wanted the damned Resurrection Stone. He knew it was a Horcrux, but he wanted to use it to bring back people he loved. He wanted all of it. The cloak, the stone, the wand… He had the wand. Had my dad's cloak, too, before he gave it back to me. He wanted the Resurrection Stone. I wonder – if he had had them all, would he have conquered Voldemort, instead of me?"

"I doubt it, Potter. It was going to be you. It was always going to be you. My fault of course." _That was honest._

Potter twitched at that. "It was long ago. You were – what? Nineteen?"

Snape hesitated, then nodded. _So the man had figured out the math, had he?_

"Yes. Same as your father and mother and Remus… and Sirius, as well."

Potter shrugged. "We all make mistakes."

Snape almost laughed at that. "_Mistakes?_" He shook his head. "I bloody well _killed_ your parents, boy!"

"No you didn't. Not really. I've thought about this a long time, Severus. You didn't kill them. Voldemort did… his quest for absolute power did. He would have gone after somebody. Somebody would have gone after him. Trelawney did make that prediction, after all. If wasn't me, it would have been Neville. It would have been one of the two of us. It could have been Neville." He hesitated. "He's a good man."

"Yes, he is." _So are you… I think. Who are you, Potter?_

Potter looked up at him. "You've seen him?"

Snape nodded but said nothing about the fact that the man was teaching at the school now. He'd have thought Potter would have known that. Neville had been here for six months, taking over after Sprout fell ill last spring. How could the boy not know? _Damn it, Potter… what happened?_

"Do you want to tell me more about McKinnon?"

Potter hesitated then shook his head. "Not right now. I'm sorry… just… later, maybe."

"It's all right. Whatever you need… I'm here."

Potter looked up at him, gave a small smile, and nodded.

"Tomorrow's Saturday. I need to head into Hogsmeade. I have some things I'd like to pick up. Would you care to accompany me?"

Potter shrugged. "Sure. If you don't mind if I tag along."

"I wouldn't have asked, if I minded."

The boy nodded. "All right."

_I have to get him some better clothes. He's a mess. He can't be wearing my things. They're too big on him. _He noted the Potter's small frame again, estimating sizes, remembering the boy fitting under his chin. He could see the tip of the haft of the boy's wand at his wrist, and the slim line of it up his sleeve, recognizing the shape and the holly. _Well, at least he's managed to hold onto that._

He hadn't used his wand in Snape's presence yet. Snape watched him use his fork and knife, his movements deft, smoother than Snape's now, his own wrists forever stiffened by Nagini's attack. _I wonder what his wand work is like now. He probably knows all the advanced spells the Order and the Aurors learn… Why did he do that, anyway… put himself in harm's way… become an Auror?_

He felt a flash of irritation. _Is this what I was protecting him for, all those years?_ _Hasn't he done enough? _His heart ached, and waves of fear and need – for the boy – the man – to be safe, happy… have a chance for happiness, anyway – kept washing over him. _Why did it have to be so hard for the boy? But he's young yet… he's still got a chance._

He wondered again what happened with Ginny Weasley, now playing for the Hollyhead Harpies. Her celebrity – and Potter's – had made their breakup very public, unfortunately, for both of them. The fact that she was dating Neville Longbottom was equally public, though her fans seemed to have accepted the change. Neville was an easy man to accept. He and Ginny made a good pair, he had thought, the time or two he'd seen them together.

He realized he had gotten lost in his thoughts, and pulled himself back to the present. "Anyway – errands tomorrow. After breakfast, around ten. The faculty would like to see you, Potter. I had to tell McGonagall you're here. I need to advise her of any guests in the castle."

"Do you take in many guests, Professor?"

"I thought it was 'Severus'?"

"Sorry. Severus."

"No. Occasionally Arthur Weasley comes for a visit… or Kingsley, of course, though he checks in with McGonagall before he sees me."

At Arthur's name, the Potter's face had spasmed. _What was that about?_ They used to be quite close. Arthur had always been fond of the boy, was a father figure in a manner of speaking, even with Remus and Sirius in the boy's life. He wondered if Potter was estranged from the entire Weasley clan now that he and Ginny had broken up. The thought made him sad… and angry. The boy needed a family, deserved a family, should not have been abandoned by the Weasleys, if that was what had happened, simply because he was no longer dating their daughter. He thought about asking Arthur about it, but again reminded himself, _Not my business… not my concern._ But he _was_ concerned.

They cleaned up after dinner, Potter stepping around him nimbly in the kitchen, graceful, now that he was both sober and rested. Perhaps some of his unsteadiness the previous night had been due to exhaustion, instead of drink. Though – three fire whiskeys would have had anyone but Aberforth unsteady on his feet, even Hagrid. Maybe he could get the boy to go visit Hagrid, or get him down to breakfast in the morning. He'd work on that.


	9. Chapter 9

**The Usual Disclaimer**: Jo Rowling has the only rights to these lovely gentlemen. Wish I did... just so I could see them whenever I want. However... I do appreciate her willingness to let them out to play. No galleons, sickles, or knuts have come my way... nor do I expect them to. Perhaps you could feed me some feedback? Thank you all.

* * *

When they finished, Snape sat at his desk and graded the rolls of parchments his NEWT students had turned in. One or two required remediation, an equal number were brilliantly done. Most were satisfactory. He made appropriate comments, rolled the parchments up, and sent them to his classroom with a wave of his wand. Potter was leafing through a potions book again. Snape cleaned his quill carefully, then leaned back in his desk chair, twirling his wand idly in his hands, watching the boy for a while… trying to memorize him… Potter… the man… what he was like now… while he could. Something about watching the man made his heart ache… loss, maybe. Or fear. Or… something like longing.

He did not want to leave the room, he realized… wanted to pin the boy here with his eyes… keep him here… not have him disappear, wander off, leave again… for another six years, five months and seventeen days… for forever. His heart kept hurting, and his eyes kept wanting to tear up. _Don't, Sev. Just… don't. Focus on something else._

"Anything interesting?" he said, after a while.

Potter looked up. "Just refreshing… been a while since I cracked a book."

He nodded. "I need to make a restorative draught for Poppy's apothecary. I should spend an hour in my lab."

Potter nodded absently and went back to his book. Snape went off to his lab, his ears alert to any sound… _waiting for the boy to abandon him, _he realized. He tried to shake it off, tried to work past the moisture in his eyes. _Focus. Potions. _He pulled out the advanced potions book. There was no way he could trust his memory in this state. He'd have to be careful, check instructions, measure twice. He heard Potter moving around in his study and using the loo; then the boy came into the lab and perched on a stool at the end of his table, watching him work. _Merlin._ He felt his shoulders and stomach relax.

"Hand me that, would you?" Snape asked, nodding at a bottle of valerian. Potter handed him the vial. "Measure out a teaspoon of that motherwort?" The boy laughed and handed him the spoonful. He tried not to think about it… the boy's fingers passing it to him.

"You could make another for yourself, if you want. You look like you could use it."

Potter canted his head at him, searching his face, then got up and took out a small cauldron and a set of measuring spoons and cups, and worked side by side with Snape, reading the instructions from the book Snape moved between them. It was like dancing, their movements coordinated, working around each other, in time with each other. Each time Potter's arm or hand or hip brushed against his, Snape's concentration faltered, and he had to pause, inhale, steady himself. _Focus. _But… he'd have done… _anything…_

_No. Gods, Sev… Focus._

Snape kept an eye on Potter's work. His hands were steady, and his work was precise. He nodded as Potter glanced at him for approval at one point. He finished his potion several minutes before Potter's was done simmering, then helped him decant his potion into an appropriate vial.

Potter compared the two – his and Snape's – and turned to him, lifting an eyebrow. Snape recalled a discussion they had had sometime early during his recovery, about the fact that older wizards' potions tended to be deeper in hue and tone because of the greater burden of life experience they carried, which tended also to make their potions stronger. Potter smiled at him wryly and said, "Looks like I caught up."

Snape looked at his vial and Potter's and nodded. "Sorry to see that," he murmured. Not because he did not want Potter's potions to be as effective – he certainly wanted that for the boy – but because of what it implied about the burdens he was carrying.

Potter shrugged.

"I'm going to take these off to Poppy's. Care for a walk?" Snape said.

The boy hesitated a moment, then shrugged again. "Why not?"

He was afraid to leave the boy, he realized. Six years was… a long time. His heart ached with it, fear, hurt and anger fighting with each other. _Six years, damn it_._ You couldn't write? Not once in six years? _It was hurt, he realized… and loss… and fear that the boy would disappear again… that he wouldn't be able to handle it – not again.

They walked through the halls of the school. It was late, even for seventh years, so the halls were deserted, but they felt less empty to him with Potter at his side than they had in years.

"I miss this place," the boy said.

Snape glanced at him. _Gods, I've missed him. _He missed Potter's voice, and the slightly clomping way he walked, stark contrast to his agility on a broom and his dance-like movements in Defense Against the Dark Arts. He missed the dangerous glint in Potter's eyes when he confronted him. He missed the challenge of it. He missed… guarding Potter, being aware of him, knowing where he was every moment of the day and night. He closed his eyes against it, then opened them and stared up the hall, into the darkness. _Merlin, Sev. Stop._

"I think it's the only place I ever felt at home."

It had been home to Snape, too, once. It still was, but… Minerva and Hagrid and Sprout were pale substitutes for Potter… though Minerva was a more faithful friend than Dumbledore had been. "Don't you own Grimmauld Place?"

Potter twitched. "Yeah… but…" He shrugged.

It was probably empty there, too, for the boy, without his godfather. Or a wife. "What about the Burrow?"

Potter shifted his shoulders uncomfortably. "The Burrow's a great place. Molly makes a good home. But… ah…it's not my home."

"What happened with you and Ginny, anyway?" Snape asked as they reached the fourth floor. He shook his head at himself in the dark corridor. _Why are you asking that? _He knew why. _What's the matter with you? Are you __trying__ to make it hurt? Stop it!_

Potter walked beside him a few steps before he answered. "If you don't mind, I'd rather not talk about that in the hall, Professor."

Snape nodded. "Of course, Potter. I apologize."

"You don't need to apologize. It's just… I don't mind telling you…" Potter hesitated as if reconsidering that, then twitched his shoulders and went on. "But I'd rather tell you… maybe when we get back."

"As you wish."

"What have you been up to, these last six years?"

Snape gestured around. "Teaching. Potions."

"Potions? What happened to Defense Against the Dark Arts?"

"Didn't have much… didn't have the stomach for it, after the Battle. There are better teachers than I, for that particular topic."

"You taught Defense great, though."

"Did I? Didn't know you were paying attention."

"Yeah, well… I was a bit miffed with you at the time… Those Occlumancy lessons…"

"Indeed… I apologize," he said again.

Potter shrugged. "Dumbledore told you to do it."

"I should have refused."

"Why?"

"It…" _It was rape, that's why. _"We had no right to do that to you… there were… there should have been… other ways to protect you… protect us."

"Like what?"

"… I don't know. I don't know anymore. I've tried to figure it out… how we could have made it easier for you… what I should have done differently…"

"Professor…" The man did not go on. What could he have said? It had been brutal… unfair… so very unfair. There was nothing to say. Snape went back to where they had been before.

"You and your classmates came into that class rather more prepared than I expected, as I recall. Neville tells me you taught them, fifth year, when Umbridge was here."

"Yeah." Potter scratched at his ear. "Well – we weren't learning anything from her. And we needed _some_thing."

"Good thing you did that."

"Was it?"

"What you taught your friends saved their lives, Potter… some of them."

The boy snorted. Snape shook his head. _When had Potter become so cynical?_

"I found I had no interest in Defense Against the Dark Arts after the Battle. Took me better than a year to be in condition to teach anything."

"Yeah – you didn't look too good at the memorial."

_Didn't know you'd noticed..._

_Don't say that, Sev._

"I wasn't. But by the end of that second summer, I was better – better enough to teach, anyway. Even so, Defense would have been too physically demanding. Slughorn stayed to teach Potions again, that first year after the Battle, but they'd had to appoint a Defense teacher. McGonagall found someone, thank Merlin, as that's still needed."

Potter snorted. "Yeah."

"Dennis McDuffie. Know him?"

Potter shook his head.

"He's… adequate. Not very experienced, but… They need someone better, really... In any case, Slughorn put his foot down at the end of that year, and McGonagall accepted my request to teach. I was very grateful."

"Why wouldn't she have?"

Snape looked at him strangely. He'd have thought that was obvious. "As I was widely considered to be a murderer, Potter… not to mention a traitor…"

"Yeah, but that all got cleared up."

"Don't be naïve. You know as well as I do that questions were raised about both of us afterword."

Potter eyes glinted angrily. "Yeah. People wondering if I was going to be _the next Dark Lord_, since I conquered the first one. Not really, though. They just don't understand."

"_I_ understand."

"Do you?"

"Yes – you think I didn't put it together? Voldemort talked about the Elder Wand before he tried to kill me, before he tried to kill you. And then – I heard enough stories from witnesses… Arthur, Neville, McGonagall. Besides, you told me – when I was… recovering. And I got a letter from Hermione Granger."

Potter looked down and away at that.

_What? Was the boy not even in touch with his best friends? What in the name of Merlin and Circe…?_

They reached the infirmary. He waved his wand to let them into the apothecary, set the restorative down, and wrote a note for Poppy while Potter leaned on the doorjamb, watching him. They retraced their steps back to his quarters. How strange it was, to be pacing the halls in the dark with Potter at his side. The last time he'd done that, it had been to drag the boy off to Occlumancy lessons… _Don't go there! _He shook his mind free of that.

"You used the Expelliarmus on him," he said, continuing where they'd left off. "Hardly a killing curse."

"Yeah… his _Avada_ rebounded and hit him… he committed suicide," Potter said in a contemplative tone that was almost frightening to Snape, and he felt his heart give a fearful lurch.

_Merlin and all the gods! Please don't, Potter. _His mind automatically repeated the protection spell he'd been uttering for… _twenty-five years, two months, twenty-one days. _His mind calculated it automatically.


	10. Chapter 10

**The Usual Disclaimer:** Thank you, Jo Rowling, for letting us play with your boys... I make no money from this - just love thinking of possibilities. If you have feedback, please feel free...

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"More tea?" he asked when they reached his door.

"You're going to drown me in tea, aren't you?" Potter laughed, following him to the kitchen.

"Better for you than the other," Snape said, waving the kettle full and then warming it.

"We don't need to go through that again."

"As you wish."

"I don't have a drinking problem."

Snape hesitated then nodded. "Let's sit a spell." He handed the man his tea, led him back to the sofa, and took up a chair next to it. "What kind of problem _do_ you have, Potter? Other than what you told me – I don't mean to minimize that…"

Potter laughed, looked down at his scarred hands for a long moment, and looked up at him. "I think I have an identity problem."

"Identity problem?"

Snape understood that. He had a bit of an identity problem himself – especially after the war, when he was no longer a Death Eater, a double agent, no longer Potter's protector… and for a year, no longer a professor. Once he'd started to teach again, he had started to rebuild a sense of who he was, a sense of purpose. But it felt strangely incomplete somehow… undirected or unsettled. It was one reason he had taken to studying astronomy. Not for Divination, but just to have a sense of where he was in the world… in the universe.

"I should have thought you knew who you were. 'The Boy Who Lived', the man who killed Voldemort… the hero… the Auror… the Order of Merlin First Class…"

"You've got one, too."

"Yes… well… not sure how that happened, exactly."

"You deserved it. Kingsley and McGonagall and Arthur… The Wizengamot… They all agreed."

He waved that off. He was no hero. His award was "in protective custody" in Minerva's office, as she put it. He'd been inclined to banish it… or throw it against the stone wall in his quarters and watch it shatter into a thousand satisfying pieces. He'd donated the award money to a fund for the survivors of the Battle who had lost parents or spouses.

"You deserved the Merlin," he said.

"I didn't kill him, you know."

"I know. I understood that the first time you told me."

"I didn't know you even heard me."

"I was unconscious, Potter, not brain dead." He'd known when the boy was there, even when he was unconscious. Some part of him had sensed it… been reassured. And then the boy had left, just as he was recovering his strength enough to sit up, to be aware, to talk about things other than carefully neutral topics like potions… He'd missed him, immediately… intensely… painfully.

"… Yeah… I guess."

"So… what's your identity problem?"

Potter looked at him strangely. "Aahh…"

He waved a hand. "You don't have to tell me. None of my business."

Potter shook his head. "It's okay. I should probably tell you anyway."

He frowned at the boy, confused. "Why?"

Potter looked at him out of the corner of his eye. "Well, if I'm gonna tell the truth to anybody in my life, it ought to be you, don't you think? You spent your whole life – well, half of it anyway – trying to save me. I probably owe you the truth, somehow… I think…" He trailed off.

"You don't owe me anything, Potter," Snape said. "I should think it would be the other way around."

"We're gonna have to get over that, you know."

"Over what?"

"Owing each other anything."

Snape looked at the boy for a moment in astonished bewilderment. _How in bloody hell am I supposed to get over owing you anything? _But he nodded. "As you wish."

"Why do you do that?"

"Do what?"

"You know. Defer to me that way. 'As you wish'… 'Whatever you need, Potter'…"

Snape was uncomfortable at the question, unsure how to answer. "I don't know. Maybe to make up for six years of torment," he said with a twitch of his lips.

Potter snorted and his eyes twinkled. "Well, I did give you a bit of a hard time, as I recall."

"Yes – you did. You were a rather insolent boy," Snape drawled.

Potter laughed, and it sounded genuine, maybe even healthy. _Better. _Snape felt something in him relax at that. "So what do you want to tell me?"

"You asked me about Ginny."

Snape nodded. _Ginny. No matter how he felt about the boy… the man… he didn't want heartbreak for him._

He stretched out his long legs and tented his fingers under his chin. Potter leaned back and stretched his legs out as well, absently tapping his toes against the soles of Snape's shoes. It sent small shock waves up Snape's legs to the small of his back. He allowed it. It kept warming his heart… thawing it out._ Why are you letting him do this to you? Potter, damn it! _He allowed it anyway, needing it… wanting it… _Stop!_

"Ginny and I… ah… were never gonna work out."

Snape frowned and shook his head. "I don't understand. Why ever not? The two of you looked to be 'a match made in heaven', as they say."

Potter looked at him and laughed. "Okay. If you say so." He said nothing for a while.

"She's a very pretty girl," Snape said, finally.

"Yes… she is… So was Cho Chang."

"Cho Chang?"

"Yeah, I… I dated her briefly before… before Ginny."

"I thought Chang was dating Diggory."

"She was. I asked her to the Yule Ball, but Diggory got to her first and she accepted, so… But after he died, after Pettigrew and Voldemort killed him… we kinda worked our way around to it. We only dated a couple of times though, and then that girlfriend of hers… Marionette? I can't recall her name… after she ratted us out – the D.A. – to Umbridge…"

Strange that it didn't hurt to hear Potter talk about this. Why was that? Maybe just because… if they were talking, he was _here_. Snape tried to let himself feel it… fill up on it, so that after the boy left… He shook his head against that. _Focus._

"Is that why you got caught?"

"Yeah. So… it was kinda' hard to hang out with Cho after that, and in the summer… after Sirius died… I spent most of the summer at Ron's house, and ah… and I thought… Ginny… And Ron and Hermione were, ah… I mean that was clear… so, ah… So it just made sense to me…"

"Well, they're both very pretty girls, Ginny and Cho… smart, too."

"Yeah…" The boy was silent a moment, then looked up at him. "Did you ever kiss a girl?"

_What? _Snape laughed, startled. "No. Can't say that I have." _Oh gods,_ _Potter…_

"Not even my mother?"

Snape grimaced. "No, Potter, not even your mother."

"Why not?"

He sighed. "I don't know." _Coward! You know damned well why. _"Couldn't get up my courage, I guess."

"Yeah, I can understand that."

That didn't make sense. Snape looked at the boy curiously. "I don't know if she would have kissed me anyway… if _I_ would have kissed _her_ anyway, by the time I was old enough for kissing."

"Why not?"

He froze at that. _Yeah, Sev… Go ahead and tell him. Why not? Coward._

"I don't know, Potter." He waved a hand irritably. "It was a long time ago."

"It's Harry."

"Right." The turn of conversation was making him uncomfortable again. "So – Ginny," he said, narrowing his eyes at the boy.

Potter sighed. "Yeah. Ginny. So… then, seventh year, of course, we were on the run the whole time, and so… and it was… it was a whole nine months, you know… and we didn't see each other. After the Battle… everyone was expecting us to… and she expected… and I… I don't know. Maybe my head was just not in the right place because…" He trailed off a moment.

"You'd been through a lot, Potter. You needed time."

"Yeah… maybe… So I went and stayed with the Weasleys after – you know, after you got better a bit…"

Somehow the emptiness of that still echoed hollowly in Snape's heart. Potter had left… just as he got better enough to… _What? Better enough to what, Sev?_

"And… and Ron and Hermione were there, except when Hermione went off to Australia to find her folks. Ron didn't go with her. The Ministry wanted a member of the Order to go, so Arthur went, and Ron stayed back to take care of George. And… ah… I spent more time with Ron than I did with Ginny…"

"He's your best friend." He didn't understand. Where was this going?

"Yeah. Yeah, he was."

Snape frowned at Potter's use of the past tense. _What on earth could possibly have happened? They were best mates… how could they __not__ be? _He didn't understand it. If Weasley had abandoned the boy… He found himself getting angry again.

"Anyway, ah… then Hermione came back, and she and Ron picked up right away again, and… um… and so… so, of course, I started hanging out with Ginny and, uh… You know, everyone just made assumptions and… Not that they didn't have any right to. They did. I mean it looked… looked perfectly clear. I mean – _you_ thought we were a good match, right?"

Snape nodded. "You were." He remembered that. They'd looked good together… like James and Lily, in fact. _They belonged together. Be honest, Sev. Accept it._

"Well, yeah, I… You'd think so, but, uh… I don't know. I just couldn't… couldn't ever take it to the next level for some reason. I wasn't sure what was holding me back. I didn't understand it myself, really. I just… I just... I just couldn't… and I thought…"

Potter paused for several long moments, then sat forward and leaned his elbows on his knees, staring at his clasped hands. "I told her I just needed time. And she told me it was okay, but I think I was lying to her. I was probably lying to myself. I just… I wasn't _ever_ gonna make that work."

_But… she was the right girl - Ginny. If he'd had to pick a girl for the boy, he couldn't have chosen better for him. Granger. Maybe it was Hermione Granger. _"Maybe she wasn't the right girl for you…"

Potter laughed. "Yeah. Yeah, you could say that."

_What? What on earth had gone wrong? Not that it was any of his business, of course, but… _

"So… I got busy with the Ministry. Robards, um… recruited me pretty hard, and of course that's what I wanted to do – be an Auror… And I got myself, ah… quite busy at work, and ah… threw myself into my training, and then threw myself into chasing down Death Eaters and Snatchers and whatever bad guys the Ministry appointed me to chase down… until… until McKinnon…"

Potter stopped for a moment, and clenched his eyes shut, shaking his head. He rubbed at the scar on his forehead and wiped at his eyes with the cuff of Snape's sweater. Snape's heart twisted painfully. _Gods, I wish I could fix it!_ The memory of the boy clinging to him echoed in his mind, and he had to stifle the impulse to reach out to him… to draw him into his arms again… protect him.

"And, ah… I made excuses not to go to the Burrow on weekends. I kept busy. I volunteered for long term assignments and surveillance. I saw Ron, of course, because he worked at George's… and we'd get together at lunch if we could, sometimes, or after work if I could, for dinner or a drink… I liked that. He kept asking me to come to the Burrow, but… I kept making up excuses… why I couldn't."

Snape grunted at that. _What was that about? _But he just shrugged and nodded for Potter to go on when the boy looked up.

Potter laughed hollowly. "And, ah… and then Hermione would show up and we'd… you know… change the topic. Sometimes she brought Ginny with her, if school was out for holiday, and… that was always uncomfortable and eventually we stopped that, too, and, uh… That's what everyone expected. Me and Ginny, or me and Cho, or me and Hermione, or me and somebody…"

_Well… yes…_ Snape thought. "That seems… reasonable, don't you think?"

Potter looked at him, shook his head and shrugged. "Maybe. But… I… found myself… uncomfortable. I was always awkward and I… I just thought it was me. I thought I… just didn't know what I was doing, but… that's not what it was." He sighed and looked away. "That's not who I am."

_I'm not following this, _Snape realized. Maybe he wasn't paying attention. He tried to focus, think about what the man was saying rather than what was going on inside him, just sitting here listening to the boy, still stuck in a war between warmth and fear. But that was about _him_, not Potter. He focused on Potter.

The boy took a deep breath. "Then last year, the thing with that Death Eater happened. And I… ah… Ron was working for the Ministry… the Aurors… by then… and… I went to work drunk…" He laughed hollowly and shook his head. "I really don't have a drinking problem."

Snape shook his head doubtfully. _Couldn't prove it by me. _Potter caught his expression and shrugged one shoulder, but did not protest.

"But, ah… I… I couldn't handle it… the… his death… his daughter… the hearing at the Ministry… I'd just… gotten drunk the night before… right into the morning… right after it happened. And… they put me on leave and told me to go home… and I didn't have anywhere to go, really. I mean, I could have gone to Grimmauld Place, but… Ron told me to come to his place – his and Hermione's. They were in London by then… so I went." He inhaled deeply and let out a long, slow breath. "And one night, ah… they had Ginny over, thinking, I think, to get that going again…"

He paused for a long time this time. Snape just sat and waited. He couldn't figure out where this was going, what could have gone wrong… especially if the boy had been with Weasley and Granger. He should have been safe. He'd always been safe with them… in the long run, anyway. _What the hell, Potter?_ He tried not to shake his head, to just sit silent and allow the man to take his time.

"Ginny wanted to kiss, or snog, or something, and I… I couldn't do it… I just couldn't do it. And I made my excuses and I left, and I went to the Leaky Cauldron, and I sat there until Tom threw me out and then went back to their place… And Ron was waiting up for me."

Potter stopped and looked uncomfortable… _more_ uncomfortable, anyway. He stared down at his hands and cleared his throat. "And I… I got to telling him how important he was to me… how much it meant to me that he stuck with me all those years…" He choked out a laugh. "And I, ah… I tried to kiss him," he said hoarsely.

_You what? _Snape's mind froze. He held his breath, then thought, _Drunk. _He almost shook his head, but caught himself in time. Potter did not look at him.

"And he pushed me off, of course, and just about bat-bogey hexed me. Asked me what the hell I thought I was doing."

_Well… what the hell __were__ you doing? _He snorted, and the boy looked up, then back down at his hands, reddening.

"Hermione was asleep and I don't think she heard anything, but I don't know if he ever told her. I slept on the couch. Ron… he looked at me so strangely the next morning." The man gave an embarrassed shake of his head. "And I, ah…" He looked up at Snape, reddening further, but looking him in the eye. "It's amazing how sober you can be when you're drunk. I remembered exactly what'd happened. And I, ah… and I… left. He looked at me like I had three heads… like I was that damned three-headed dog of Hagrid's. I left and… and… that's it." The boy kept his eyes on Snape's, desperate, Snape thought.

"So… you were… drunk… and you hit on the wrong person," Snape said carefully. Potter just looked at him, saying nothing, as if waiting for him to connect the dots. "If Ginny had been there, would you have hit on her?"

"No," Potter said, almost in a whisper. "No, Professor... No."


	11. Chapter 11

**The Usual Disclaimer:** Jo's characters. Twisted a bit, I know, but still... her boys to begin with. I just asked them to dress up a bit differently and act _as if..._They were game for it. I didn't pay them; you don't pay me; it's all in good fun. The boys and I would love to know what you think, thought...

*turns to Sev* STOP TICKLING! You can have my attention in a minute! *turns back to you* Sorry... demanding and petulant. Yes - petulant! But he's cute, so I let him stay any time he wants, don't I Sevvie? *kisses him on the cheek* Anyway - feedback makes the boys happy, so if you would...

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"No," Potter said, almost in a whisper. "No, Professor... No."

_No? _His heart almost stopped. _No. Careful, Sev… careful. He's just a boy, a confused boy. _He nodded. "I see. So… when did you figure this out?"

"Oh… about a month later." Potter laughed and looked down. "I don't know… a month before? Seven years ago? Twelve years ago? I don't know." He inhaled deeply. "I was never any good with girls, you know? I… the only thing I remember about kissing Cho Chang was that it was… _wet_, and… the only thing I remember about snogging Ginny is that it was _awkward_. And the only thing I remember about… kissing Ron is that… he didn't want to."

"I imagine that was… awkward, as well," Snape said with a slight smile.

Potter looked up, snorted, and shook his head, one corner of his mouth twitching. "I… I don't think it was _Ron_, to tell the truth. I mean, he's my best mate, and he's a good bloke… couldn't ask for a better. My God, he saved my life! But I… I just think I needed _something_," he said, looking away and shaking his head.

_Looking for… something… from the wrong man… _Snape understood that. He didn't know what he was feeling… sympathy? Empathy? Hope?

_Don't go there, Sev, damn it!_

He realized Potter was having trouble looking him in the eye. _Thank Merlin. _He wasn't sure he could have looked the boy in the eye either, just then.

"And… he was my best friend. But to tell you the truth, I never did have a thing for gingers." Potter laughed. "Or freckles. Kind of… kinda' odd… really… I always had a thing for the tall, dark and handsome fellow." He blew out a long sigh and looked down at his shoes.

Snape sorted through Potter's classmates, wondering who he might have been thinking about. "Neville."

"Neville?" Potter looked quizzical for a moment, then laughed slightly. "Huh. No, not Neville."

"Well, it can't be Draco, then."

Potter laughed. "No. _Not_ _Draco_!"

"All right, then –"

"Wouldn't want to marry into _that _family."

_Marry?_ Snape twitched. _Gods… _"You know, there are… other wizards like you, Potter. You're not alone."

"Sorta' few and far between, aren't they?"

"No more so than in the Muggle world. It's probably a good ten percent – maybe more." He hesitated, but… _the man was dead, so what did it matter? And Potter was an Auror, used to keeping confidences._ "Dumbledore was gay."

"Was he?" Potter laughed. "Well, that sort of puts an end to the speculation about him and McGonagall doesn't it?"

Snape's lips twitched. "That _is_ a persistent rumor. Of course, they pair her with me, too."

"Well, none of the three of you ever married."

"Not true in Minerva's case. She was married. But that's a story she'd have to tell you."

"Oh. I didn't know."

"Indeed."

"_You_ never married."

"No."

"Why not?"

Snape just looked at the boy, who flicked his eyes to him. He looked away, afraid of what Potter would see, uncertain if he could – or even wanted to – keep the boy from reading him, now. _Don't, Sev._

"My mother."

He shrugged. _As good an answer as any…_

_Coward._

"So – did you ever kiss a girl?" Potter asked, still looking at him.

"I told you I didn't."

"Not even once?"

"No."

"Did you ever kiss a boy?"

_Damn it! _Snape snorted. "_No_, Potter. I've never kissed a boy." _Merlin,_ _Potter… Don't do this to me!_

"Oh." Potter bit his lip and looked away.

Snape's eyes caught on the boy's face… _Stop it. Damn it. _He didn'tknow if he meant Potter or himself. He narrowed his eyes at the boy. _That's not what he needs from you, Sev. You're his Head of House – act like it! This is not the first student you've talked through this! Think like his Head of House._

"So… that puts you in an awkward position. I assume you haven't told Ginny or Hermione or Ron about any of this?"

"Well, I rather think Ron might have figured it out."

"Do you? He might have decided you were just drunk."

"I guess."

"What do you think they'd say if you told them?"

Potter looked at him. "Professor… do you have any idea what it's like to be _different_?"

Snape looked at him, stunned. He… laughed. "Are you joking?" _Different? _He'd never been anything _but _different.

Potter stared at him, looked confused for a moment, and then laughed. "Yeah, well. All right. But… do you have any idea what it's like for your friends to… not have any idea what it's like to be… different?"

Snape leaned forward, elbows on his knees, making eye contact with the boy – the man – sitting on the sofa, unable to look at him for more than a couple of seconds. "Listen, Potter. _Your friends love you_," he said intently. "Your friends are devoted to you. They would die for you. They almost _did_ die for you. Do you think this would be enough to put them off? You're not giving them enough credit, boy."

"Doesn't it put you off?"

"Why? Why would it? My mentor was gay. Why on earth would it bother me for my protégée to be gay?"

"Protégée?"

Snape's lips twitched. "Or something." He'd had to come up with _some_ word… some way to categorize his relationship with the boy… some way to think of him, even to himself… and 'protégée' was… safe, if woefully unfit.

"Did Dumbledore ever hit on you?"

Snape barked a laughed. "_No. _I think he… I'm not his type…" _Thank Merlin._ "And he's not mine."

"No? Why not?"

"Well, for one thing, Potter, he was a good seventy-some years older than me. I'd look for someone a little closer to my age… if I were looking." That was… closer to the truth… but safe enough. Snape relaxed a little.

"Yeah, I guess. But I mean… _he_ might have…"

"Dumbledore had his own friends, and his own life history and, ah… it didn't run to me, trust me. Even less did I have any interest in him that way. He was, perhaps, a decent protector when I needed one, and perhaps a decent enough boss for the most part…"

"You mean other than the little fact that he set us both up to die?"

"Yes… Other than that," Snape said dryly.

"So what about anyone else at the school? I mean…"

_Merlin, Hecate, and Circe… please… stop! _"Potter… I've never had a romantic relationship with anyone. Is that clear enough?"

"Yeah. I guess."

"What does it matter, anyway?"

Potter twitched his shoulders. "I don't know." He was silent a moment. "So… now what? Do you want me to leave?"

Snape snorted in exasperation. "What's the matter, Potter? You can't tell? I should think an Auror of your talent and experience would be able to tell. _It_ _doesn't bother me_. You think you're the only gay wizard I know? I mean aside from Dumbledore?"

"You know other gay wizards?"

"Ten percent, Potter. Think about it." _Think about it. _

_Merlin, Sev, just… don't. Don't even start._

"Oh… Anyone else in my year?"

"I don't know, Potter." He laughed, more than half frustrated, at least half amused. "I don't make it a habit to enquire into other people's love lives."

"Sorry, Professor."

"It's all right. Just… finish your tea, would you?" _Too close, Sev. Careful, damn it._

"Okay. So… is it okay if I kip out here again tonight?"

"Of course. If you're going to stay longer, we're going to have to fix you up a bed, so you don't put a permanent dent in my sofa."

Potter quirked a smiled at that.

"Let's… we'll go shopping tomorrow, then, yes? But I want you to come to breakfast. Would you?"

Potter scratched at his scar.

"That doesn't hurt anymore, does it?"

"No. Just habit."

"So – breakfast then, all right?" _One more morning… Does it matter? _He did not know.

The man looked down at his hands.

"Need some pajamas?"

"I'll just… I'll just sleep in this."

Snape pursed his lips at him. "You'll need some fresh clothes tomorrow, then."

The man looked uncertain.

"It's all right, Potter. Whatever you need."

Potter looked up at him strangely. "Thanks, Sev."

_'Sev'… Merlin and Circe… _It did strange things to him, to hear that from the boy's lips.

"You're welcome. Anything you need. Anytime."


	12. Chapter 12

**The Usual Disclaimer:** Jo's characters. Twisted a bit, I know, but still... her boys to begin with. I just asked them to dress up a bit differently and act _as if..._They were game for it. I didn't pay them; you don't pay me; it's all in good fun. The boys and I would love to know what you think, thought...

*turns to answer a question from Harry* No, love, we haven't heard from everyone yet? Why? Because... because... *looks back at you* I don't know. Stop whining. Ok - ok! *turns back to you* Harry wants to know what you think and if you think he's a sissy for being so emotional. He says I have "author's bias" when I tell him he's fine. Please let him know what you think. *glares at you meaningfully*

* * *

_Saturday, October 19, 2005_

It was dark. He wondered what woke him, and lay still, listening. The boy was crying – quietly, trying to stifle it. He sat up, dangling his legs over the side of the bed. He listened a moment, trying to make up his mind what to do.

_I should go to him._

_Really? And do what, Sev?_

_It's not fair to leave him alone with it… he needs comforting._

_Who needs the comforting… him or you? Be honest._

But he let the sound of Potter's crying convince him, slid his feet into slippers and paused at the doorway, his eyes searching out the figure on the sofa. Potter was laying face down again, his head buried in the pillow, his shoulders shaking.

He stepped quietly to the boy's side, crouched down, and laid a hesitant hand on his back. Potter froze a moment, then let out a shuddering sob and curled his body toward him until his head was against Snape's chest again.

_What have we done to you, Potter? _Snape thought, his heart slipped an arm under the boy, pulling him into a half-sitting position so that he could move to sit on the sofa. He put his arms around Potter again, and let him cling to him. With one arm, he circled the boy's shoulders, and with the other hand, he smoothed his hair. He shook his head and sighed, then rested his chin on Potter's head. He said nothing.

The boy eventually stopped his crying, but, though Snape knew he was still awake, he did not move his head from Snape's chest, or his arms from where they clung to him. Neither of them moved, but for breathing.

_What have we done to you? Dear Merlin… hasn't he been through enough? Gods, I wish I knew how to help! _Snape shook his head occasionally, as he tried to sort through his thoughts and feelings, his arms tightening around the boy, the boy occasionally sniffling. They sat for a long time. He could have sat that way forever, keeping the boy safe, he thought.

When he realized the room was starting to lighten, he loosened his hold and gently moved the boy away from him. He looked into the man's – the boy's – face, barely visible in the approaching dawn, Potter's eyes searching his.

_He's just a boy._

He cupped his hand around the back of Potter's head and gave him a bit of a shake, then, sighing, got up and, without a word, returned to his room, confused. No. Not confused. Uncertain. _What am I doing?_

He meditated. Or tried to. It wasn't easy. His thoughts kept turning back to the boy – the man – laying on his couch, to Potter's arms clinging to him, the feel of it…

_What am I doing?_

_Protecting him. Trying to protect him. I still want to rescue him… I still want him to be safe… happy… I'd do anything._

_Anything? What if what he needs is for you to leave him alone?_

He had no answer to that. He was exquisitely, almost painfully, aware of the Potter's presence the other side of the door. He imagined he could practically feel him breathing, feel his essence. He shook his head, gave up the pretense of meditation, and went to draw his bath.

He toweled his hair dry, snorting at his recall of Potter's suggestion he use _Tergio_. He dressed, distracted by the fact that his mind kept turning to Potter's utter aloneness… his loneliness. He forgot to count. Waves of sadness and remorse kept washing over him, and his heart ached. He rubbed his chest absently and opened his door to find Potter at the table in his study. The boy waved a hand.

"Made you some tea. It's chilly."

"Thank you, Potter."

"Whatever you need, Professor."

His lips twitched. "Severus."

"Well, then, it's 'Harry', isn't it?" the boy said, narrowing his eyes at him.

"Yes. Of course. I apologize."

"No need to apologize… Why do we keep doing that to each other?"

"No idea. Force of habit, I guess."

"I suppose… but we have to get over that."

Snape hesitated. _Why? Did you plan on sticking around?_

"All right. We'll work on it." He watched as Potter sat and took up a spoon to stir some honey and milk into his tea. "Better?"

The boy inhaled. "Some," he said quietly, looking at Snape and then away. "Thanks."

"No problem, Po… Harry… Anything you…" He stopped and Potter laughed up at him. He snorted. They drank their tea in silence – not uncomfortable, exactly, just… something. He tried to stay in the moment, not remember, not fear…

"You can get a fresh shirt and sweater from my wardrobe," he said as he reached the bottom of his cup. "Go take a bath."

"What – another?" Potter grinned and Snape shook his head. The boy got up to take his cup to the sink.

"Leave it. I'll take care of it."

"Okay. Thanks."

"Anythin…"

Potter laughed and stepped out from behind the table, passing behind him to get to the bedroom and bathroom. He pressed a hand on Snape's shoulder as he passed, and murmured, "Thank you, Sev."

Snape sat for a while, holding his cup as it cooled in his hand. His stomach tightened as he held onto the feel of it – Potter's hand on his shoulder… Potter's head against his chest… Potter in his arms…_ Don't do it, Sev… It's going to hurt if you let yourself go there._

_Too late. It's too late. It's going to hurt no matter what I do, when he leaves._

_But it could hurt worse._

When he caught himself at it, thinking of Potter in his arms last night, or this morning, or whenever it was – _Day three_, he thought. _That makes it six years, five months, nineteen days. _– he inhaled, tried to laugh at himself, and cleaned up the tea with a wave of his wand. He looked around his quarters and considered, thinking about where he might put the boy if he stayed longer. His library was a possibility, he thought. He could move aside the chairs, or even banish them to the storeroom on the seventh floor, if Potter was going to stay for any length of time, and bring down a bed for the boy to sleep on, rather than the sofa. But he'd wait to hear more about Potter's plans. In the meantime, he took care of some correspondence and settled into a chair to wait.

When Potter emerged, toweling his hair dry, Snape smirked. "Decided not to try the _Tergio?"_

"Nope. Didn't want to dry my eye sockets."

Snape noted that Potter had pulled another of his shirts out of his wardrobe – a green one that deepened the color of his eyes. It was… odd… to see the boy in his clothes. His stomach reacted strangely to it, for some reason. He eyed the boy. He definitely needed new clothing. He still wore the same dirty jeans. Snape's own trousers would never fit him. They'd be too long, if nothing else.

"Come here," he said. Potter walked over to him and he ran his wand down his front, siphoning off most of the dirt, and then turned him around to do the same on his backside. He eyed him critically. "Well… that's the best we can hope for, I think. It's a little better, anyway."

"Thanks," Potter said, smiling down at him. "I never was much good at those domestic spells." His eyes were clearer, not so dull, brilliantly green and intelligent, alive… aware.

_Oh, Merlin… That's just… not… fair. _He looked away.

"Indeed. Grab a sweater." He went to his room to pull an extra cloak from his wardrobe, while Potter riffled through the sweaters in his drawer, pulled one out and slipped it over his shirt, then held his arms out, looking to him for approval. He snorted softly and shook his head. "You're a bit smaller than me."

Potter grinned. "Yeah… but…" He turned to look in the mirror. "I kinda' like the look. Reminds me of wearing Dudley's things. Big and comfortable."

Snape growled at him. "Are you calling me _fat_, boy?" The boy laughed at him. "I should think that would be annoying – being reminded of wearing your cousin's hand-me-downs."

"It would, if I felt about you the way I felt about Dudley," Potter said with a chuckle. "Of course then you'd have to watch your back at night. I'd be bat-bogey-hexing you in your sleep."

Snape shook his head at that, trying to shake loose the image that provoked, and tossed the boy the cloak. "We'll leave right after breakfast. Ready?"

Potter hesitated, then shook his head. "Later – please, Severus. I… I'm not ready. I'm just not ready. Besides," he said, gesturing at himself and trying to make a joke of it, "I'm not properly attired for public consumption. That Order of Merlin thing, you know… I don't exactly look the part." His face turned sober. "I will… I promise, but… I'm not ready – not yet. Okay?"

Snape watched him a moment, then nodded. "Whatever you need, Potter… whenever you're ready," he said. "Call for Elspeth – no – Bert. It's Saturday. Elspeth is off on Saturday."

"Off?" The boy laughed. Don't tell me you convinced the House Elves to take days off?"

"It took a concerted effort… by all of us. Minerva had to threaten them with _two_ days off a week, if they didn't take _one_. We had to set someone to make sure they didn't sneak back in on their days off, for a while. In any case, call for Bert. He takes care of me on Saturdays."

"Okay."

"I'll be back after breakfast to pick you up, then. I'd eat here, but Minerva gets touchy if I miss too many meals… Seems to think I'm _too thin_," he said, narrowing his eyes at his too-big sweater on the boy's small frame. "Besides, my Gryffindors get anxious and rambunctious if they don't see me once a day. Cheeky lot."

Potter laughed again, and Snape turned and headed to the Great Hall, joining the general flow of students from his House, nodding good morning and responding to questions in fair humor. Once in the Hall, he made a decision, and went and spoke to Neville, bending down to whisper in his ear. Neville looked startled, then nodded. Snape sat next to Minerva.

"Where's Potter?" she asked.

He hesitated. "He's… he needs more time, Headmistress. If he's not down here by Monday, we'll do something else. I have a plan."

She accepted that, patting his hand. "I'm sure you're the best one to handle it, Sev. He did come to you, after all."

_Yes… that's true… he did come to me, after all… _He nodded, his heart unaccountably lightened.


	13. Chapter 13

The Usual Disclaimer: Jo's lovely men... all three of them. *sighs* Anyway, Neville agreed to come play today. Harry and Sev are really excited... and so am I. Keeping them busy and out of trouble is a full-time job. I'm counting on Neville for some babysitting - unfair, really, but... he's such a good boy. Anyway... the only galleons, sickles or knuts trading hands are theirs. Me - I'm just having fun.

* * *

After breakfast, he met briefly with the Gryffindor Prefects, Neville standing off to one side, listening. As they walked back to his quarters, Neville asked a few questions, which he answered in a low voice. Neville nodded at each answer.

Potter was on the sofa, elbows on his knees, apparently just thinking. He looked up when Snape came in, then looked startled, almost panicked, when Snape was followed by Neville.

Neville took care of that in short order. "HARRY!" he yelled, and ran to the man, pulled him up, pounded him on the back, and hugged him. "Oh my god, Harry! I can't believe it! Where the _hell_ have you been? Hermione and Ron have been frantic! We've been _so worried. _My god…" He held onto the back of Potter's – Snape's – sweater and shirt, grabbed Potter by one shoulder, and shook him. "Why didn't you let us know? How long have you been here? How long can you stay? Everyone's going to be so damned glad to hear you're okay! We've been worried sick…"

Snape watched Potter take in Neville's greeting. His body language went from panicked to stiff, almost frightened, to nearly limp, and his face flitted through panic and fear to relief, tears springing to his eyes. Snape let the younger men have their reunion, watching from across the room, his heart aching and warming in turn at Potter's distress, and then his utter relief.

_Better. That's better._

"Neville…" Potter finally choked out past tears. He pulled away and looked at Snape, half accusingly, half grateful.

Snape shrugged. "I thought it would be better one at a time… You had to see him sometime," he said. "I invited Neville to go with us this morning."

He waited for the boy's reluctant nod. _Better. Definitely better for the boy._

Potter wiped his eyes and smiled hesitantly at Neville. Neville grinned at him and shook his head. "You've no idea how great it is to see you, Harry," he said quietly. "I had some planting to do this morning, but when Sev told me you were here… I just had to see you." He waved a hand. "The planting can wait. If you don't mind me going with…"

Potter shook his head and threw a look at Snape again. "No – I mean, yes. I mean…" He gave a shaky laugh and threw up his hands. "It's fine, Neville. It's great. Come with us."

"Great!" Neville said, clapping an arm around Potter's shoulders.

"Shall we, gentlemen?" Snape bowed mockingly and gestured toward the door.

The three of them set out for Hogsmeade, walking through the school. Potter looked more his old self, now that he'd dressed decently and combed his hair, and a number of students seemed to recognize him, but Snape's forbidding look and a small shake of his head kept anyone from approaching them. Neville kept up a lively chatter, covering up the fact that Potter was saying nothing, looking a bit uncomfortable, Snape thought as they walked out the doors. Potter managed to put himself on the other side of Snape from Neville. Neville poked his head around Snape to look at the boy as he talked.

It occurred to Snape that Neville was taller than he was. _Tall, dark, and handsome_, as a matter of fact, and he wondered if Potter's discomfort was because he had set his sights on Neville, despite his denial the night before, and now the Herbology professor was dating his former girlfriend. That would be difficult… painful for the boy.He knew for a fact that Neville had no romantic interest in his own gender. He'd dated many a girl before Ginny became available, and had, in fact, a reputation for being a gentlemanly lover, so he doubted the man was available to receive Potter's affections.

Potter became more comfortable as they walked. Neville had the good sense and sensitivity not to ask him too many questions, and talked instead of his classes and students and how much he loved teaching. He did ask Harry about his travels and the things he'd seen, enquiring eagerly about flora, of course.

"So, where are we off to?" Neville asked when they reached the town.

"Minerva said Madame Malkin's Robes opened up a branch here last month… I thought we'd start there. Potter needs some clothes."

Snape pointed out the newly-painted shop, slightly misnamed, since they carried a full range of clothing, other than shoes. He prowled through the shop pulling out corduroy and dress pants, long-sleeved shirts – green, since they caught his eye, as well as white, and t-shirts, guessing at Potter's sizes, as the clerk was waiting on another customer. He tossed them over the curtain to the boy, who was trying on something else already. Neville was on the other side of the store, looking at dragon-hide gloves.

Potter came out of the changing room and held his arms out to the side. Snape shook his head and got the next smaller size in shirt for the boy, as well as the next smaller pant size, approving those when the boy came out. He tried not to think about what he was doing, then shook his head at himself when he found himself thinking about it anyway.

_It's protecting him, just… differently._

_It's not. It's… giving him… things._

_He needs it._

He tossed the boy jeans and a sweatshirt, and the boy came out in those, the hood of the sweatshirt stuck down his back. Snape gestured him to turn around and pulled it out for him, then nodded again. Potter rejected a black shirt with a shake of his head, but accepted another green one. Snape nodded approvingly when the boy came out, his eyes glinting at Potter's laughing turn.

"Matches my eyes," the boy said.

Snape tilted his head to one side and considered, then nodded. Potter grinned at him, his eyes twinkling, and Snape nearly caught his breath. _Damn it, Potter! Not fair! Damn it!_

Neville moved on to ties, caught Snape's eye and raised an eyebrow in query. Snape nodded at him. Neville grinned and held up a Gryffindor tie. Snape smirked and nodded again, then handed over the dress shirts for Neville to match ties to. He piled socks and underwear on top of the growing pile on the counter. The clerk finished with the other customer and went over to Potter's changing room. She suggested sweaters, and over Potter's protests, added two to the pile at Snape's nod, after the man tried them on. Snape raised an amused eyebrow, and Neville grinned, at Potter's sputter when the woman went to help him with a robe that Snape threw at him.

Potter's eyes grew big as he looked at the pile on the counter. "I don't need all that!" he protested. "One of each is enough."

"I hardly think so, Potter. I'll be wanting my wardrobe back… My things look ludicrous on you. Besides…" Snape smiled in malicious humor at the boy. "… no doubt Minerva will want you to address the School, since you decided to grace us with your presence. Can't have you looking like you've dressed in Dudley's cast-offs. So unless you've been holding your wardrobe in your pockets with an Undetectable Extension Charm…" He tossed two sleep pants on top of the pile.

"Never got the hang of that spell," Potter muttered, and went back to the changing room. When he came out, he was wearing new jeans, but he still had on Snape's shirt.

"That's my shirt, Potter. You have your own."

"I like this one." He held the sleeve to his nose. "It smells like lavender. _You_ smelled like lavender… until fifth year."

_What? Damn it! _The boy kept knocking him off balance. He could never get grounded around him, _damn it!_

"Took me a long time to figure out why. I mean, why it changed. It was because you were sneaking around then, wasn't it?"

Snape hesitated, but nodded. What was the point of denying it? The man's Auror training would have taught him that. And… there was no need.

"No offense – I know you were doing it to protect me. To protect all of us. Once I was an Auror, I realized that you can't go around wearing essential oils or aftershave." He rubbed his jaw, stubble still evident on his chin.

"You'd have to shave first, to need that," Snape observed. _I'll have to get him a razor._

The man laughed. "Yeah. That's true."

Snape pulled galleons, sickles and knuts out of a money bag. Potter watched him pay and arrange for delivery, a puzzled look on his face. As they left the store, he said "Thank you… Professor…"

"Anytime, Potter. Whatever you need."

Potter frowned, shook his head, and laughed, looking confused.

Snape directed them next to a cobbler, where a tape measured Potter's feet. The cobbler tapped a pair of trainers, then some sturdy black leather ankle boots, which adjusted to his measurements. Potter put on the boots and sighed when he stood to walk around, testing the fit. Snape told the cobbler to toss the boy's old shoes. The boy walked more fluidly when they left the store.

Snape let the younger men choose where to eat. "The Hog's Head," Potter said immediately. Snape looked at him consideringly. "I told you, Prof… _Severus_. I don't have a drinking problem!"

Neville met Snape's eyes over the boy's head.

"And I'm not blind, either," Potter said angrily.

When they entered, Aberforth looked up and said, "Twice in one week… Could get to be a habit."

Snape nodded. "Aberforth."

"What are you drinking, gents?"

"Elderberry," Snape said.

Potter glanced at him, looked at Aberforth, and said, quite deliberately, "_Pumpkin juice_." Neville ordered the same. They sat and talked about the school and about news in the Wizarding world at large. Potter took a breath and asked Neville, "How's Ginny?"

Neville planted his elbows on the table and regarded Potter with such warm concern that the boy ducked his head. Snape thought he saw the boy start to tear up.

"_Ginny's_ fine. How are _you_?" Neville asked.

"Me? I'm fine."

"Sorry, mate, but… you don't look it. You look like hell."

"So I hear," Potter said, his eyes flicking to Snape.

Snape looked at Neville, then turned his eyes back to Potter.

"What have you been doing the past year?" Neville asked.

"Travel."

"Where?"

"Around…" Potter swirled his pumpkin juice idly, looking uncomfortable.

"Yeah? What have you been doing?" Neville's tone was challenging, though his concern could not have been more evident. "You know, mate, you could have Owled us. Ron and Hermione – all of us, really – have been frantic."

Potter looked down at his juice. "Really?"

"Yeah. Why'd you run off like that, mate? What's bothering you?"

"… Let's just say… I'm considering a change of career."

"Yeah. I heard about that."

Potter twitched a shoulder.

"Ron told me. I knew you'd be upset. That had to be really hard."

"Yeah… you could say that."

"Not your fault, you know."

"Yeah… Right."

"McKinnon was a bad guy, Harry. The fact that he had kids does not make him a good guy," Neville said.

Potter was silent for a long moment. "I… I know that, Neville." He straightened up and threw a look at Snape. Snape looked back at him calmly.

Just at the point where the boy's hands were starting to shake and Snape was wondering how to gently turn the subject, yet stay respectful to both his and Potter's colleague and friend, Aberforth came over to refresh their drinks. Potter grabbed his pumpkin juice and gulped half the glass. Aberforth grunted and said, "I'll just leave the pitcher."

They ordered. Potter asked for soup and salad. Snape realized he'd had enough to eat in the last couple of days that he was no longer ravenous, and his Auror's training in good nutritional balance was reasserting itself. Aberforth brought over bread and goat cheese, and the boy had a bit of that as well. He ate healthy, if moderate, portions, and no longer gulped at his juice.

Snape threw Neville a look, wanting to take the pressure off of the boy. Neville met his eye and nodded. Soon, they were deep in discussion about some new plants he'd gotten in the greenhouses.

"Have you heard from Sprout, Neville? How's she doing?"

"She's great! She's fully recovered and she's traveling a lot, sends me clippings… she's become quite the collector. Sev here's really broadened his Potions curriculum, because we've added so many rare plants. You know, we only had about four hundred of the plants listed in _One Thousand Magical Herbs_ when we were in school. Now we're up to – what, Sev? Six hundred or so?"

Snape nodded.

"You should see, Harry. The greenhouses are brilliant!" Neville said. "Come down and see them after lunch?"

Potter laughed at Neville's enthusiasm. "Sure, Neville. I'd like that." Snape let out a breath he didn't know he was holding and gave a tiny nod when Neville glanced at him.

"With the new plants, we can really expand the apothecary, and Sev concocts some really useful potions."

"Really? Like what?"

"He came up with a really useful hair-growing tonic…"

Potter laughed and looked at the two of them. "Well, it's working. Neither of you is bald."

Snape's lips twitched and Neville laughed. "And we came up with a really good acne cure."

"That's worthwhile."

"Yeah – the students love it. Too complicated for them to brew, but Sev, here, is a bloody genius when it comes to potions."

Potter looked uncomfortable with that for some reason. "Yeah… I knew that." He looked up at Snape's skeptical snort.

Neville went on to list plants and the potions and teas that Snape had made from them. Snape grew increasingly uncomfortable as Neville went on, oblivious to both his discomfort and Potter's increasing quiet.

"And he made a potion to counteract snake bites," Neville said.

Potter's eyes snapped to Snape's hands. Snape slid back his shirt sleeves, loose on his thin wrists and arms, and considered his wounds. "Too late for me, though it helped a bit with the scarring," he said.

Potter put out a hand and traced the scar on the inside of Snape's left arm, where once there had been the Dark Mark, down to his palm, with one finger. Snape's skin tingled in the wake of the boy's touch, and he forced himself to hold still. The look on Potter's face was unreadable, and he closed his eyes, his fingers still on Snape's hand, then opened them and withdrew his hand. He looked up at Snape and the look on his face was… regret… sadness.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly."

"For what?" Snape asked, just as quietly. "It wasn't your fault."

Potter opened his mouth to say something, but closed it.

Neville sipped at his pumpkin juice, watching them. "You blame yourself too much, Harry," he said. "I noticed that about you at school. You think everything's your fault, like you're supposed to be perfect or something… save everyone. But… I learned something that year I led the D.A. You don't have to be perfect. You just have to be true to who you are."

Snape's attention snapped to Neville's face. _Neville, damn it… But he was right… wasn't he? _He flicked his gaze back to Potter, who sat frozen, clenching his jaw, his eyes clamped on Snape's. Snape shook his head. _I didn't tell him,_ he thought at the boy. Potter nodded.

"You should listen to your friends, Potter," Snape said after a moment.

Potter worked his jaw loose, still staring at him. "It's _Harry_… Professor."

"Severus."

"Yeah. _Severus_," Potter said quietly, holding Snape's eyes.

Something on the… the boy's… face caught at Snape's attention, but… _What was it? _He tore his eyes from Potter's face only when Neville cleared his throat. He realized he'd been frozen in position, and, with surprising effort, made himself move, and finish his meal. When he went to pay, Neville put out a hand.

"I've got this, Sev," he said, and he looked at Potter, then back to Snape, and smiled at them warmly.

"What?" Snape said. Neville just smiled wider and said, "Let me get it." Snape frowned slightly, but allowed the man to treat them.

As they made their way back through town, Potter walked next to Neville, deliberately keeping Neville between him and Snape, it seemed. Snape wondered if he'd said something wrong, but the three of them talked about Hogsmeade, and the school, and the faculty, and Potter seemed more comfortable with Neville. _That was good… _he thought. _Wasn't it?_

He sang the spell to let them back in the ward, Neville humming support at his back in counterpoint. He appreciated that. Once inside, he waved the two men off toward the greenhouses, and headed back to their – _his_ – quarters, laughing as Neville eagerly pulled Potter away. He smiled all the way to their quarters.

_My quarters… mine. Not ours. Yours, Severus._


	14. Chapter 14

**The Usual Disclaimer: **Jo's boys, Jo's school, Jo's money. Not mine. Please pay in reviews. Thank you. The boys thank you, too.

* * *

As Potter was clearly going to stay another night, he decided to go ahead and set the library up as a guest room. That was easily accomplished, a bed, a nightstand and a small trunk summoned from the stores on the seventh floor, and one of the chairs banished to the same room. He was done well before Potter returned from his visit, early in the evening. He looked up from the table where he was making notes in an advanced potions text when Potter came in, smiling and relaxed. He and Neville had stopped by Hagrid's, and that had delayed them until nearly dinner.

Snape sat back and contemplated the man. "Ready to join us for supper?"

"I guess. Yeah. I should change, though. Neville had me digging up Mandrakes." He held up a bloody finger.

"Let me see that."

He got up and pulled the boy to the sink in the kitchen. He cleaned the bite, then _Accio'd _Dittany from the lab. Potter held still while Snape treated the wound. He looked up to find Potter watching him strangely.

"Better watch where you stick your fingers."

"Yeah... Thanks. I'll go clean up."

Snape nodded. "Your things are on the bed in my room."

"Okay."

Ten minutes later, Potter came out of Snape's bedroom, pulling a shirt over his head. Snape was standing by the door, robe thrown over his arm, ready to leave. "That's still my shirt, Potter," he said, though he was not really bothered by it, for some reason.

"Yeah…"

"A little big for you, isn't it?"

"Little bit. Arms are long, but…"

"What's wrong with yours?"

Potter said nothing, just buttoned his shirt and put on one of the sweaters they had gotten him. He held his arms out to the side. "Okay?"

His dark hair curled slightly against his neck, and his green eyes sparkled in amusement as he smiled up at Snape, who managed to stifle a sharp intake of breath. _Damn, the boy was… _"Dashing," he drawled. _Stop it, Sev. Damn it. _But he didn't want to – not really.

The man grinned at him. "Just what I was going for."

"Trying to impress Neville?" he teased, and tried to ignore the twinge in his chest.

Potter looked at him strangely. "No." He laughed. "No… not Neville."

"Well, I'm sure there must be someone down there who would be interested in the great Harry Potter," Snape said mildly.

Potter looked away, a spasm of… something… crossing his face, then came to lean against the wall across from Snape.

"Yeah, well… that's a problem, too. I don't know who to trust." He sighed. "I don't know if there is anyone I _can_ trust." He turned his eyes back to Snape. "Except you. Because you turned out to be…" He laughed. "…the most trustworthy man I've ever known. More trustworthy than Dumbledore. More honest with me, really, despite the fact that you were hiding everything the whole time."

_Honest? _Snape wasn't sure about that.

Potter sighed and looked down at his boots, his jeans, his sweater, then back up at Snape. "I've been away a long time. I've been away a long time, Severus… You're the only man I can fully trust, really. Well – Arthur, maybe." He laughed sadly. "And oddly enough, other than that first year, I think I knew it all along. Despite everything that I said, and despite drawing all the wrong conclusions, just like you planned… it just never made sense, what it looked like you were doing… because you were always doing something else, always protecting me."

He paused and looked Snape in the eyes. "You're a good man, Severus. An honest man. The best man I know, in fact."

Snape held his breath, frowning at the boy. "Thank you, Potter," he said, finally. "That's unnecessary."

"It's true," Potter said, fending off his protest. "You're the best man I know."

Snape swallowed and looked away. _Don't, Potter, _he thought… but he didn't mean it. "Better take your robe… Dresses up the look. And the Great Hall is cold this time of year."

"I remember. Don't suppose you have a spare scarf?"

Snape snapped his fingers. "Knew we'd forgotten something." He stepped past Potter and went to his room, pulling a soft cashmere scarf in Gryffindor colors from a drawer. He paused to caress it. Potter, Weasley and Granger had given it to him when he was recovering – something soft against the wounds on his neck, they'd said. He wondered if the boy would remember. He shook it out, folded it in half, and then grabbed it by the middle of that. Leaving the room, he tossed it at the man, who was shaking out his robe.

Potter caught it, his Seeker reflexes still as fast as they were when he played Quidditch for Gryffindor. He held it a moment, running it through his hands, then looked up and said, "Thanks, Sev." He folded it around his neck, letting the ends drape down outside his robe.

"Anything you need, Potter. Anytime." Snape gestured toward the door. "Supper?"

They walked down to the Great Hall, surrounded by Gryffindor students, many of whom called, "Good evening, Professor!" as they rushed past. Some stopped, startled, and glanced back at the man at Snape's side, who did his best to ignore the fact. Snape led him up the side hall to the entrance at the back of the head table. They caught up with Trelawney on the way, and she stopped, peered closely at both of them, then teared up and patted Potter on the arm. "Of course, I knew you would return, my dear boy" she said. "Love always calls us back."

Snape quirked an eyebrow and tried not to laugh. Potter was not as contained. He did laugh. Then he hugged her and said, "It's good to see you, Professor!"

The scene was repeated just inside the door, as one professor after another realized Potter was finally joining them. They jumped up to grab him in a hug, or to pump his hand enthusiastically, often wiping a tear from their eye. Snape hovered, watching lest the boy feel overwhelmed and bolt, but apparently Minerva had warned the faculty to tone down their welcome and not to ask questions, because while their welcome was warm, they otherwise let him be. Minerva gestured him to a seat between her and Neville, put an arm around his shoulders, and kissed his cheek when he sat down beside her.

There was pointing and whispering amongst the students. Snape eyed his Gryffindors beadily and they settled down, but kept grinning and pointing, and sat up a little straighter, he noticed. After all, Potter was from their House. He did not call the man's attention to it. Students of all four Houses lingered over their supper longer than usual. He knew it was because of Potter at the head table. When he, Potter, and Neville got up to leave, there was a universal scraping back of benches as the students got up to leave as well.

Snape rued the fact that there were no secret passageways from the Great Hall to Gryffindor Tower, as it was closest to the front entrance. He had hoped to avoid the press of students in the halls. He'd have to say something to the Gryffindors on Monday, he thought. However, Potter took the situation out of his hands.

"I'd better go up to the Common Room to say hello," he said as they made their way through the throng of students.

"If you're ready for that."

"Gotta do it eventually, if I'm here. Might as well do it now."

"Do you want me to come with?"

"If you like."

Neville stepped up behind them. "I'll come, too, Sev."

The three of them headed up the stairs to the Common Room. By the time they reached the Fat Lady, there was a parade of students accompanying Harry to her portrait. "_Mimbulus Mimbletonia_," Neville muttered, and the Fat Lady swung open.

"Neville's in charge of passwords," Snape murmured into Potter's ear. Harry turned his head to grin up at him. _Damn._

The students gathered around, jostling for position, as the three wizards took positions near the fireplace. Some crowded the stairs up to the dorms to get a better view, while others perched on the arms of already-crowded chairs and sofas.

"I don't suppose I need tell you," Snape began, "this is Mr. Harry Potter. I daresay you know who he is." The students murmured a response. "He's come up to spend a few minutes with you. I know you will listen… respectfully." His eyes narrowed at them, but glinted in amusement. "Mr. Potter?"

"I just came up to say hello," Potter began, "and to encourage you to pay attention to your studies. Even though the war is over and Voldemort is defeated…"

A few students gasped at that. Potter cocked his head at them. "Never be afraid to name a thing. Fear of a name increases your fear of the thing itself. It gives the thing power over you. Always call a person or thing by their right name and look them in the eye. Then you can meet it on equal terms. Call it what it is."

Snape nodded approvingly.

"Even though _Voldemort_ is gone, there are still things in the world that threaten us, threaten the Muggles," Potter said. "You each need to be prepared to take your part. One of my teachers used to say 'Constant vigilance'. I'll say that to you again. You may feel safe here. And the world _is_ relatively safe, compared to when I was going to school, but safety requires you to be vigilant. It requires you to pay attention. It requires you to learn and to become the best you can be, so that you can help keep the Wizarding world and Muggles safe. Be courageous. Especially, be courageous about who you love… because love is the strongest magic that there is."

_Damn. _Snape laughed at himself. _Damn it, Potter. _He looked down at his shoes, afraid of what his face would show if he looked up at the man. He found himself smiling. _Damn it, Potter. _He shook his head andlooked up.

Most of the students looked confused, but Potter smiled and said, "You'll learn."

"Will you take some questions?"

"Just a few, but about school, okay?" He looked around the room. "Not about the war. We'll leave that for a class – maybe History or Defense, all right?" The students nodded.

"What was your favorite subject?"

"How did you get on the Quidditch team?"

"Were you really the youngest Seeker in a century?"

"Did you really teach Professor Longbottom Defense Against the Dark Arts?"

"Yeah – are you really friends?" The students looked eagerly between him and Neville, awed and just as clearly admiring of their Herbology professor.

In short order, Potter was laughing and talking, answering eagerly-asked questions, as Neville and Snape looked on. Neville supported Potter's telling in parts, but finally waved a hand to cut the questions off. Snape stepped in. "That's enough for now, I think. Time for you all to be in your beds."

The students begged for more, but Potter stood to go.

"Will you come back?"

"Maybe. Depends on how long I'm here."

The students called thank you's, and those nearest them reached out to shake Potter's hand. Neville finally managed to get between the students and Potter, and stayed behind to settle them down, letting Snape and Potter escape out the entrance and head down to Snape's quarters at the base of the tower.


	15. Chapter 15

The Usual Disclaimer: Jo's School... Jo's faculty... Jo's students... Jo's grads. My plot; no cash. Feedback please?

* * *

"Nice," Snape said. "You did a fine job. You'd make a good teacher."

Potter shrugged and grinned. "Merlin, they're small!"

Snape snorted. "No smaller than you, when you got here. In fact, as I recall, you were rather… short."

Potter laughed and looked down at himself. "Still am, really."

Snape looked at the man, a full head shorter than him, he realized, remembering that he had fit quite neatly under his chin when he had clung to him, after telling him about McKinnon. He shook his head to clear the image from his mind.

"I remember when I started," Potter said. "I remember the first time I saw you… up at the head table. Your eyes… you were so… intense. You looked at me so strangely… And then, gods! That first Potions lesson, you gave me such a hard time…" He laughed. "And I gave you a hard time right back… I did." He inhaled, but said nothing.

"I remember."

"Do you?"

They had reached the door to his quarters. He said the password and opened it, letting Potter precede him into the room. "Tea?"

Potter laughed. "Pumpkin juice, I think. I'm a little dry. All that talking."

Snape nodded and went to the kitchen, rather than Summoning the juice. He brought two glasses of pumpkin juice to the study. Potter had taken up his spot on the sofa, and was looking into the fire. Snape placed Potter's juice on the table next to him, and took his own to his chair. The boy sat for a while without saying anything. Snape sat still, not wanting to disturb his thoughts… taking the opportunity to just watch him.

After a few moments, Potter inhaled and looked up. He gave a half smile and picked up his glass, raising it to Snape. Snape raised his in salute and they both took a drink. Potter watched him a moment, as if he was deciding something.

"What?" Snape said.

The man took a breath. "When I was younger," he said quietly, looking off into the fire again, "I wanted…" he shut his eyes and took a deep breath. "I wanted something." He opened his eyes and flicked them to Snape's face. "I… I always trusted you."

Snape raised his eyebrows skeptically, and Potter shook his head. "After the first year, I mean – when I found out you were protecting me from Quirrell. I kept watching you… and I… What I saw… it all made sense only if you were protecting me. I kept… I kept trying to… pretending to… hate you… because I had to… because I couldn't admit to myself… But I kept watching you. And at some point along the way… fourth year, maybe… or fifth… No – it was fourth… I thought… _I'm in trouble. I'm in trouble, because I should hate you_, but I didn't… and I couldn't make myself after that. I tried to. I didn't want to… to…" He gestured, searching in vain for the right words for whatever it was he was trying to say.

Snape sat watching him, fascination and something like fear twisting his insides. The boy went on. "… but then I found out about you and my dad and mum, and… and Sirius and Remus… And I wanted… I just wanted…"

Snape shook his head and frowned. They hadn't had more than pumpkin juice at dinner. Why was the boy so disoriented? _It must have been talking with the students_. _It must have given him flashbacks, or something. _Snape understood that. It was one reason he refused to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts. It gave him nightmares and confused his thinking. Minerva kept telling him to talk it out… but he felt out of control when he even thought about it. But Potter had always been made of sterner stuff than he was. _I should let him talk it out - right?_

"Sirius – he was like a brother, really… He called me James once, just before he died… in the fight at the Ministry… I think he saw me as a mate, really. And Remus… he was like an uncle… And Arthur – he was like a dad… And you… I wanted… something different from you." The boy stopped and swallowed, looking up at him and then away.

_Anything. _He couldn't keep from that happening… that response was automatic. He couldn't help it. "What did you want, Potter?" _Do I want to know?_

The boy looked at him uncertainly, then closed his eyes.

"I just wanted you to… accept me… _see_ me, at first, I think. Just see me, and stop seeing my dad or my mum, just me – Harry. Every time I looked at you… I thought you hated me."

"I…" Snape began, but the boy talked over him, not really listening, just trapped in his memories, he realized. He let the boy talk_._

"I wanted _so badly_ for you to… _see_ me…" The boy opened his eyes and looked at him, desperate pleading on his face. "And I kept trying to fight it off, but… I couldn't… I trusted you. I thought I had it right – that you were a good man. I trusted you. Even when I said I didn't."

_Trust? _Snape shut his eyes and let the boy's words wash over him. _How… why in the name of Merlin did the boy __trust__ him?_

"That's why… after Dumbledore died… one of the reasons it was so hard was that… I'd trusted you… It's not just that Dumbledore insisted on it… It's just… it was the only thing that made sense… made sense of everything you were doing. It's the only way it all fit together – that you really were a good guy… that you were working on our side and pretending to be on the other side. When you killed him, it about killed me, because … I _needed_ you by then…"

_What? _Snape looked at the boy in confusion.

"I _needed_ you to be a good guy… And then you killed him. I saw you do it. And everything I thought I knew about you, thought I had figured out… I was so lost… so confused… And I called you a coward… I remember I yelled at you '_He trusted you!_' but really, I was thinking '_I trusted you! Fight back… fight back, you coward!_' – because when you killed him, you killed any hope I had that you would ever…"

Snape sat frozen. The boy's telling evoked his own memories of that night, and he shivered, feeling the fear, and despair, and his tremendous sense of loss… more his loss of Potter – Potter's trust, the possibility that Potter would ever understand… than ever his loss of Dumbledore could have been, despite the loss that represented to the wizarding world.

_What am I supposed to say? What am I supposed to do with this?_

_Nothing, Sev. Just… listen._

"Until the Pensieve… until the Shack… There was something in your eyes. When you said, 'Look at me,' I… I thought I saw it…" The man took a shuddering breath. Potter was watching the fire, not him.

_'Look at me,'_ he remembered saying_._ He wanted the boy's eyes to be the last thing he saw… as if that would give him courage… or would be something he could take with him. He fought tears as the memory overtook him. _Look at me… _ Was that memory, or was he thinking it now? Both, maybe.

"Watching you d…d…die… was… so…" Potter choked out. He shook his head, and closed his eyes, wetness marking their corners. "I thought you were dead… And after the Pensieve, when I walked into the forest, and Remus and Lupin and my parents were there… you weren't. So I thought – I was right… or I was wrong… You must have hated me. Because if you loved me, you would have been there… would have been with me in the forest… would have protected me, _like you always did_…. And you weren't there."

Snape shook his head. _If I_ _loved__ you? _His heart protested, pounding.

_But you did. Tell the truth, Sev. _His eyes were glued to the boy's face. He could not – did not want to – look away. He shook his head. _Tell the truth._

_I did… care._

_He remembered… dying in the shack while the boy was still in danger… seeing the green flash and hearing the crack of the spell, knowing that the Avada Kedavra had been used somewhere nearby… that likely it was the boy who had met his end. Oh, gods, he remembered it… lying there sobbing out despair and loss while he bled to death, he had thought, and wished that his death could have counted for something… could have saved the boy._

He was trapped in the boy's telling… could not pull himself out of it… was trapped in it as if he were in some sort of reverse Legilimency, listening helplessly as the man went on.

"And then… when you were alive… _oh gods_… You hung onto life by a string as thin as… as a piece of spider web, and I sat there… and prayed… and begged you to live… begged you not to leave me. But… for you, really, because I knew you would never… could never…"

Snape frowned and shook his head, confused._ Begged __me__… not to leave __you__?_

"In the Pensieve, in one of your memories… you told Dumbledore it was all for Lily – for my mother… and that I was arrogant and mediocre… and… so I knew you would never… But I still… I didn't want you to die. And then, when you started to get better… I didn't want to be there… because I didn't think I could hide it anymore, really, and I didn't want to tell you… tell myself… so I left. And I tried to make it work with Ginny, but I couldn't… and I couldn't tell you… and I…"

Potter lay back against the back of the sofa, his head flung back. Tears rolled from his eyes to his ears, down his neck. "All I ever wanted was for you to _see me_…" He stopped and shook his head. "That's not true. I wanted… Oh, god…"

He stayed in that position, staring at the ceiling, shaking his head. From time to time he closed his eyes, but the tears did not stop. Then he leaned forward, curled around his stomach as if it pained him, his head down on his knees, shaking with sobs.

Snape tried to follow Potter's disjointed speech. It took him a few moments to catch up with the boy's pressured telling… and then it clicked into place. _What am I supposed to do with this? _he thought, frozen._ Merlin and Hecate, what am I supposed to do with this? _He wanted to say something… do _something_ to comfort the man. He wanted to… _do the right thing_. _He needs someone else… someone healthy… someone… younger. _His mind shied away from the rest of it. _I have to help him out of this. He can't do this._

_Why do these discussions always happen at night? _he wondered. His next thought was, _Thank Merlin and all the gods they take place at night… _when the dark and the shadows and the flickering light of the fire hid his reactions from the man… _the boy._ _He's still a boy, Severus._ Though… the darkness did not seem to help him hide the truth from himself.

The firelight glinted off the tracks of the boy's tears. Snape didn't think he could bear it.

"When you came to school," he said, his voice cracking even in the murmur in which he spoke. "… I knew the minute you set foot on the grounds." He shook his head, remembering, and looked down at his hands. "I think I could _feel_ it. I knew the minute you turned eleven. I knew the day you got your wand… the day Hagrid went to fetch you on Dumbledore's orders. Fitting, as he'd been the one to drop you off in that hell hole… it was only fitting he should fetch you out. I certainly could not have. Lily's sister… your aunt..."

Potter had frozen, listening. His tears had stopped, though his head lay back on the sofa again, his eyes open, staring at the ceiling lost in the darkness. But his tears had stopped. _That was good – wasn't it?_

Snape heaved a sigh and scrubbed at his face. "She would have recognized me… And she would have blamed me for her sister's death… and she'd have been right, but for the wrong reason. She'd have blamed me because it was I who told Lily she was a witch. In any case… you didn't need to see all of that, your first day as a wizard."

He looked at the man – still staring, unseeing, at the ceiling – wondering what he was picturing. _Don't you hate me, Potter? _His heart ached. _You should._

"I think I felt it the moment you stepped out of one of those first years' boats." He paused. He had to say this… emphasize it. "You were eleven, Potter… and I was _thirty-one. Thirty-one._ I'm nearly twenty years older than you."

"When's your birthday?" the boy asked with no inflection, not even curiosity, in his voice.

"January 9th, 1960. The same year as your mother… your father." _Think about that, would you?_

The man just sat there. Snape sighed. "Quirrell, he… something was different about him. He'd come back different from his summer travels."

"Albania," Potter said without looking at him.

"Yes – how did you know?"

"Horcruxes. He met Voldemort there."

"Yes. Not that I knew that at the time, of course, or I'd… I'd have… killed him. Without a thought." _The boy should know that, too. I'm dangerous. He should know that._

"Did you ever kill anyone, Professor? Other than Dumbledore?"

He let the title stand. _Better for the boy._ "No. I never did. But not for lack of trying. When that Death Eater aimed at George and Lupin… but I used the Sectumsempra, not the Avada… Thank God!" he breathed. Then he realized that Potter… Potter _had_ killed someone… _Oh, gods! _His anguish for what Potter had gone through – all of it – hit him like some Stunning spell, and he closed his eyes against the pain of it, fighting it down, shaken.

"In any case," he said, returning to his story with difficulty, his voice rasping, "Quirrell was… Anything different, anything suspicious… You were at the school and something was wrong. I felt it. Dumbledore felt it. I was… scared. I admit it. And the next day, in Potions… I… I know I treated you badly. I… just didn't expect… You had her eyes… and James' hair… I wanted to hate you. I _wanted _to. But _damn it!_" He shook his head, remembering. "I practically had to use a shield charm to fend you off… but… what would _that _have meant? I would have had to acknowledge it, that you scared me… my reaction to you scared me. Because I _didn't _hate you… _at all. _I let you believe it was your father in you that I hated, but…" His voice softened and he looked up to find the boy's eyes glittering at him in the firelight. "It wasn't your father. It wasn't your mother. It was that you made me _feel _things. It was that…" He closed his eyes against it… against Potter's eyes, watching him. "I knew… everything you did. I swear…" he whispered.

_Be honest, Severus._

"It was like you were some damned North Star… My life centered on you, circled around you… And the older you got, the more that was true… And it scared me."

He looked up out of the corner of his eye. Potter had sat up, was leaning slightly forward, his elbows on his thighs. Snape looked down again. "It was because of the danger, partly… mostly… _Merlin, Hecate and Circe_…" He stopped and drew a breath, the fear stabbing through him, even now. "I was terrified every time something happened. And I was _angry_. With you. With Dumbledore… With the world… Until Voldemort came back – and then I was angry with him… and Dumbledore… and the world… Whatever threatened you threatened _me_, because _I would have done anything _to keep you safe."

_He could not say it. He would not… he would not. It was you… not Lily. It was you,_ he thought, but he clamped his lips against _that_ coming out, fought, unsuccessfully, to keep from looking at the man. "You turned sixteen… and Dumbledore came back to the castle with that damned ring that Voldemort had cursed…"

"It was a Horcrux."

"So he tells me. Now. Or he did later, anyway – after it was over. And… Dumbledore didn't tell me what was going on… All that I knew was that he was closeted with you." He laughed. "I have to admit, I wondered if he…" He stopped.

"What?" Potter asked, puzzled. Then his face changed. "Oh! Oh – no, Sev." He laughed. "_No! _ That would _not _have happened! I'd have hexed his testicles off – or tried, anyway."

Snape laughed at that. It broke the tension… made it safer, maybe… pulled them back from that brink.

"In any case… I didn't know what he was up to – only that it involved you. And then…"

He remembered it.

_He must die._

_I thought we were protecting him…_

"Then he told me… about you and Voldemort… and what the prophecy really meant – that neither of you could survive…"

Even now it knocked the breath out of him.

"All I remember thinking was, '_No! No! No!' _After I left his office, I paced the castle for hours. I couldn't sleep… I couldn't even think… I just kept walking… I kept finding myself, time and again, outside Gryffindor Tower and the Fat Lady, wanting to break in, sprint up the stairs to your dorm and take you away from it all… _save _you." He flicked his eyes to the man and then away. "I… I wanted to wrap you inside my cloak, hide you from the Dark Lord's eyes – as if that would have worked… I just… I wanted to _save you. _How many times did I consider just throwing myself at him? If it had killed me it wouldn't have mattered… I wanted… I _needed_ you to be safe. I'd have done anything. _Anything_… to keep you safe."

He looked at the man and shook his head. It showed. He knew it showed, and… _I can't help it, but damn it, Potter… I can't do this. Don't you see? I'm all wrong for you. _He willed Potter to read him… then to _not _read him… If he did, he'd know the truth of it – because _that _he no longer poured into the Pensieve or vials or kept hidden from himself.

"When… when I killed Dumbledore…" He could see it again… hear it again…

_Severus… please…_

_FIGHT BACK! YOU COWARD! FIGHT BACK!_

"… I died inside. It was a death warrant. I knew that, but I'd known for years that my life would be forfeit one way or another. There was justice in that. I died when Lily died… I died again when Dumbledore died. It was only my body that was still living. But… it was because… that was the end of any chance that you would ever know… that you would ever see the truth… that you would know the… the truth… All I saw was death… and the words you said… the last words I'd ever hear from you – ever." It made his heart ache, even now.

"It was all I could do to keep breathing… to keep going… to keep living… and the only reason I did is that _you_ were still alive. What if you needed me? What if I could save you? It's the only reason I breathed, or ate, or slept… just so I could wake up, live the next second, in case there was a chance I could save you. If you…"

_This was true_, he realized, though he'd never put it into words before, not even to himself.

"If you had died… I think I would have killed myself. Or arranged to be killed… let Voldemort do it, perhaps, after I let him see the truth. I almost killed myself after Dumbledore died… not because of him… Because of you. Because you hated me. And I…"

"No! Severus!" Potter said. He looked frightened, overwhelmed, confused, and Snape shut his eyes against that.

_What are you doing, Sev? You're supposed to be taking care of him! You're supposed to be talking him out of this. _He could not say it. Would not. _Should _not. "I… didn't… I never hated you," he whispered.

He couldn't help it. A sob tore from his chest and he shook with it. _Oh gods, it hurt. Even remembering it… after eight years… It hurt so badly he thought he would die from it __now__. Never mind that Potter was here. __That__ Potter had hated him… and it still hurt._

_Why am I still here? My god, why am I still alive? Why aren't I dead? It should have killed me. It __did__ kill me._

"I'd have done anything," he whispered, looking down at his tightly-clenched hands. "Anything… Even now… I'd do anything…" He was still trapped in it… in wanting to do anything… anything it took… to keep the boy safe. He looked up. "_Oh, gods_," he whispered desperately. "_Why are you here?_ Every time I think I'm all right, I hear about you… or I _don't_… or Neville brings you up, or Hermione sends a letter, or Minerva asks a question, or I hear you visited the school or that you've disappeared… and _every damned time_, I'm back in it… terrified… wanting…" He shook his head, did not wipe away his tears. "_I can't do this,"_ he whispered, shutting his eyes.

"Severus," the man said softly.

"_Merlin…_ Why are you here, Potter? Why are you doing this to me?"

He felt a hand on his, and he opened his eyes to see the man kneeling next to him, one hand on his… one hand reaching out. He did not flinch, but he wanted to.

"Severus…"

He pulled his hand out from under the boy's, raised it and cupped it around the back of the boy's head and just held it there.

"I'm sorry... I'm sorry..."

_"_For what?"

"I… I can't. I'm sorry…" _I don't have the courage._

He shook the boy a little, then ran his hand once down the back of Potter's head. He sat a moment, trembling, afraid to move… not even breathing. Then he worked up enough courage, at least for that, and stood, and fled to his room, feeling Potter's eyes on him as he shut his door.

_Why do these discussions happen at night – when they left him staring at the darkness, listening to the boy's footsteps, the sounds of the man getting into bed, the creak of the bed as he tossed and turned, trying to get comfortable, and the sound of the boy softly crying in his room? Why did they occur when the castle was so quiet his thoughts were audible and his pulse too loud in his ears, and to get up and pace would be to reveal himself? Why did they happen when he could not distract himself with potions and rule-enforcing and grading parchments? Why was it easier to __feel__ things at night?_

He lay there and pondered timing, and tried, unsuccessfully, not to think of the morning and waking and facing Potter over breakfast… of the possibility the boy would leave… the possibility he would stay… And eventually, he cast a Muffliato at his door and gave into his shaking and his heartache.

In the middle of the night, Potter came in to use the loo. It woke him, as it had the previous two nights, and left his shoulders… something… Not twitching, exactly, just… sensitive… aware. He stared into the darkness, turned away from Potter's whispered "Lumos". When the boy was done, he waited for the light to fade, but it did not. He could see by the shadows it cast that Potter stepped closer to where he lay. He closed his eyes and was torn…

_Come…_

_Go…_

After several long moments, he heard the man sigh and the light, dimly seen through his lids, faded. The door closed softly. He laid still, his heart aching and confused, a tear escaping to run down his face and soak into his pillow.


	16. Chapter 16

**The Usual Disclaimer: **It's all Jo's - including the money - except the plot. Feedback is lovely.

* * *

_Sunday, October 20, 2005_

He dressed with deliberate care, after bathing quickly, his movements unusually abrupt, almost spasms of jerky, defensive moves. He dressed severely – tight-shirted, buttoned up, high-collared, black, almost formal. He dressed defensively, closing himself in, closing it up.

_Contain__ yourself._

He left his room and went to the lab, not wanting to face Potter, as the man was moving around in his room. It was too early to go to the Great Hall… almost too early for his classroom, either. He was making excuses not to leave his quarters, he realized, but then felt pinned to the lab when he heard Potter in the study, and then, through the open door to his room, the sound of a bath running.

He waited.

The bath drained when Potter was done.

He waited.

When he judged the man had had enough time to get himself decent, he tugged at his waistcoat, picked a random vial from a shelf as an excuse, and left his lab.

"Breakfast," he'd intended to say, but the word stuck in his throat. Potter had just emerged from his – Snape's – room, barefoot, bare-chested, a shirt in his hands. They both froze.

"I thought you'd gone to breakfast," Potter said, breaking the silence.

"I… I was in the lab," he said, gesturing vaguely behind him. He did not want to say _I was waiting for you. _

_Tell the truth, Sev._

_It's not a lie… _He shrugged uncomfortably.

"Sorry," the boy said, lifting the shirt. "I… yours are softer."

Snape realized, suddenly, that the man's chest bore a scar – several scars, in fact, but the one that caught his attention just then ran from his chest up over his shoulder and around to his back. It looked like he'd been hit by a Sectumsempra, not yet healed. It was red, looked nasty, infected even. He stepped swiftly toward the boy.

"Where'd you get that?" he said, grasping his shoulder and turning him to inspect the whole of it, fear gripping his chest.

"McKinnon."

"You didn't say you were injured." _My god, the scar was livid… "_What happened?"

Potter shrugged uncomfortably.

"Who treated it?"

The man just looked at him.

"Are you telling me you've gotten no treatment for this? What the hell were you thinking? Do you have any idea what could happen if this is infected?" Fear was making him angry. "_This is your wand arm_, Potter! What were you thinking?"

He dragged the boy to his room, his bathroom, and Accio'd two potions from his laboratory. He made Potter sit on the edge of the bathtub, while he examined the wound with shaking fingers gone suddenly cold. The boy shivered at his touch.

"Sorry," he muttered, probing for damage to muscle, sinew. The boy winced. Snape clenched his jaw, angry for reasons he was not completely sure he understood… not completely. He took one of the potions and cleaned the wound with exquisite care, dousing it with cotton-balls soaked with an anti-infection agent. The potion bubbled and smoked in the wound, and the boy hissed, tensing his muscles, but held still under Snape's insistent fingers.

"It's infected," Snape said, almost coldly, in his fear.

He rinsed the potion off, grunted, and repeated the application three times, before he was satisfied that the infected wound was sufficiently clean for the moment. After the final dosing, he dried the wound completely then applied the second potion – a salve that would cool and soothe the wound and speed healing. Potter's muscles unclenched, but the potion raised goose bumps on his skin and he shivered again. Snape rubbed the salve into the skin surrounding the wounds as well, willing his hands warm, feeling them respond both to the friction and to his mental command, his heart pounding less fearfully now that he was _doing _something.

"This is the salve I use on my own wounds. I want you to use it twice daily. For the next week, we should clean that – every morning, every evening. You should be far more healed, a year after the injury. It's red. That means it's infected. If it's not better by Friday, I'll want Poppy to look at it, or someone from St. Mungo's."

He finished and handed the boy the jar of salve, then grabbed him by the shoulders, careful of the wound, and shook him, glaring at him. "You _cannot do this_, Potter. You did not save the Wizarding world and come back from the brink of death to treat life so lightly. _You cannot do this_, do you hear me?" _This is not what I saved you for… tried to save you for. _He shook the man again. "Do you hear me?"

Potter was looking at him strangely… intently. His head lolled a bit as Snape shook him, but he nodded. "Yeah… yeah… I… yeah… Thanks… Severus."

Snape let him go, turned away, and wiped his hands on a towel. "I told you, Potter… Anything you need… _anything_. Just… _take care of yourself_, will you?"

The boy hesitated so long in responding that Snape turned back to him. His eyes were bright with moisture. Snape felt his heart clench.

"Sure… I'll… I will… Severus."

He pulled the shirt over his head and poked his arms through, rolling his shoulder experimentally. He gave Snape a wry smile. "That _does_ feel better."

Snape snorted and shook his head. "Breakfast," he said. "That way," and he pointed toward the door.

"Gotta get my shoes and socks first."

"You'll need a sweater, too – it's getting colder out."

"Okay – _Dad_," Potter said.

Snape growled at him and the boy laughed and left the room as Snape snapped the towel at him.

They walked down to breakfast together, more comfortable than Snape expected to be, though… his mind skittered around the edges of the feeling of the boy's shoulder under his fingers. He shook it off. McDuffie, the Defense professor, cornered the boy as soon as they entered from behind the dais.

"Could I have a word, Mr. Potter?"

"It's Harry," the boy said.

"I was wondering if you might have time to address my classes sometime this week. I know it's a terrible imposition, and I don't mean to take advantage, but… it would be an honor…"

The boy looked uncomfortable and raised his eyebrows at Snape in question… or asking for help, perhaps.

"What did you have in mind, Dennis? Perhaps if you and Potter here discussed some… parameters. I'm sure some topics are off-limits by Ministry request, aren't they, Potter?"

"Oh – yeah! Yes, there are some things Minister Shacklebolt has asked me not to discuss in public, and of course, as an Auror, there are some things that are…"

"Of course, Mr. Potter. I completely understand, I assure you. If you had some time this afternoon, perhaps we could discuss… I'm free between three and dinner…" McDuffie said hopefully.

Potter reached to scratch his neck, just where the scar would be, Snape thought, wincing. "Yeah… I guess I could do that."

McDuffie was beside himself with excitement. "I'd be so grateful, Mr. Potter… you have no idea…"

"It's _Harry,_" Potter said, slightly irritated, Snape thought. However, McDuffie apparently did not hear it that way.

"_Harry,_ then, Mr. Potter. Thank you. And I'm Dennis. Though when I introduce you, I'll expect the students to treat you with the respect you're due, of course…"

Potter laughed. "All right, Dennis. Three o'clock. Where do you want to meet?"

"Oh. Well…" and the man threw a look at Snape. "If it would be convenient, I could meet you in your… in Severus' quarters? I understand you're his guest."

Potter looked to Snape for permission, which he gave with a nod, realizing he'd never had the other faculty to his quarters, save Minerva.

"Three o'clock, then," McDuffie said with a pleased smile. "I'll see you then. Severus," he said, with a slight bow. Snape nodded back.

"And so it begins," he said into Potter's ear as they seated themselves.

"What?"

"They'll all be wanting you to talk in their classes, now you've agreed to one." He laughed at the look of horror on Potter's face. "Well – how often does a hero show up at school, anyway?"

Potter narrowed his eyes at him, then his face cleared and he lifted an eyebrow. "_Every day_," he said pointedly, and with a satisfied smirk at Snape's sudden discomfort, turned toward his breakfast.


	17. Chapter 17

**The Usual Disclaimer:** It's all JKRowling's, including the money, and I don't begrudge her a penny. The plot is mine. So are the characters that crowd into bed with me at night to snuggle. Reviews are gratefully received and carefully digested.

* * *

_Through Friday, October 25, 2005_

Snape was right. As soon as it became known that Potter was speaking in Defense classes, the other professors, one by one, approached him and asked him to address their classes as well. Soon, he had a full schedule, this week and the next booked with one or more classes each day.

"Don't let them abuse the privilege," he counseled the boy. "Pace yourself."

Potter nodded. "I'm trying."

"It's all right to say 'no'."

"Do you want me to talk to your classes?"

Snape hesitated. It wasn't that he didn't want the man… would not have valued that for his students. It was that he didn't want to _use _him… and… he was not sure, exactly, what that would be like, to have Potter in his class. Echoes of Potions lessons from the past flew through his mind.

"I wasn't aware that I'd ever taught you anything," he said dryly.

"What? Of course you did!"

"Really." He raised an eyebrow.

The boy turned red. "Ok. I know I was a bit of a berk in your classes, but really, Severus, your classes were good. And I learned. You just… you just didn't notice," he finished, somewhat weakly.

Snape eyed the man. _Never noticed. _He almost laughed at that. He'd been so damned _aware _of Potter in his classes that it interfered with his concentration.

"I watched you, you know," Potter said.

He blinked. "When?"

"When you made potions… I used to watch you. One time, you were making a potion… and you were so absorbed in it… you weren't even paying attention, really, to the class – just making your potion. And I… your movements were so… elegant… artistic. Like you said that first day – 'the subtle art and science of potion making'… I thought it was like poetry… or ballet. You didn't even know any of us were watching, and I was probably the only one who was, but… your face was so… peaceful…"

He was stunned into silence, searching Potter's face. A small smile lifted his lips and he shook his head. He laughed. _What am I supposed to say to that? _"If you wish to speak to my classes, Potter, flattery is not necessary, I assure you. A simple request will do," he said, narrowing his eyes at the man.

Potter laughed. "All right. May I address your Potions classes, Professor Snape?" he said formally.

Snape tented his fingers and pretended to consider. "I believe I can fit you into the schedule… if you insist, Mr. Potter," he said. The man laughed at him.

It gave the boy nightmares sometimes. The nights after he talked to History or Defense Against the Dark Arts, especially, Snape would jerk awake to hear him calling out, thrashing around in his bed as if he were fighting, or running, or just… frightened. The first time, he charged out of his room to Potter's, having grabbed his wand from his nightstand, ready to fight off some threat, regardless of the fact that both the school and his quarters were warded. The man was shifting restlessly in his bed, moaning. Sweat formed on his brow and upper lip. His t-shirt was soaked with it. Snape stepped to his side and shook him.

"Potter… Potter… it's just a dream. Wake up! It's just a nightmare. Wake up!" he murmured intently. The man startled awake with a wordless cry, reaching for his wand. Snape blocked his hand. "It's all right. It's just me, Severus. You're okay. Everything is all right. You were just dreaming."

Potter lay back, wide-eyed, and wiped the sweat from his lip with a shaking hand. Snape conjured some water for him, and handed him the glass. He nudged the boy to move over and sat on his bed, watching him sip from the glass.

"Sorry… nightmare."

"Clearly."

"It happens sometimes."

"I can imagine. You've been through a lot." Snape hesitated. "I can give you Draught of Dreamless Sleep, if you want."

The man shook his head. "No. Makes me groggy. I can't fight my way out of it… makes me too vulnerable in my sleep."

_Auror training. _Snape nodded. "I understand…" He hesitated again. "If you… if you want to talk about it… or if you need anything… even if it's… even if I'm sleeping… you need only call. I'll come. You know that, don't you?"

The man laid back on his pillows, watching him, a strange expression on his face. "Yeah… I know. Thanks."

Snape hesitated a moment, then stood up. "Are you all right? Need to talk about anything?"

"No… thank you. I'm fine."

He nodded. "See you at breakfast, then."

Potter nodded. He slept peacefully the rest of the night.

After that, though he never called out for Snape, when the boy did have nightmares, Snape woke, went in and sat on his bed, calming him, conjuring water or pumpkin juice, sometimes rubbing his back if he wept, his heart aching for him. The following mornings, they pretended nothing had happened, though over time, they became more comfortable with each other and their unspoken routine.

Potter visited Snape's classes, talking about the potions he'd found useful in the field and during the war. Snape watched carefully and kept questions about the war to a minimum, guarding Potter's privacy by claiming Ministry privilege when questions threatened to broach the topic of killing. Potter told stories of his own Potions lessons with Snape, and had the students laughing at tales of exploding cauldrons, ingredients that crawled off his desk, disastrous cauldron spills and incorrectly-brewed potions that made people sprout tentacles or turn orange. Snape's lips would twitch and his eyes glint in amusement. His students watched his reactions as much as Potter, as the man talked.

It changed them… changed the dynamic between him and Potter, between him and his classes. It healed something he didn't know needed healing, hearing those stories, laughing at them – with Potter, with his students – especially with his Gryffindors… and with the Slytherins, for some reason. He and Potter were more comfortable after each such visit, and talked about Potter's classmates and people they both knew and loved or liked or even disliked. Snape told him stories of his own potions training, in turn. They got used to it, being with and around each other. Snape tried not to let it frighten him.

The more time they spent together, the more Snape caught himself studying the boy – the man. His voice was deeper, though still in the tenor range… a difference in harmonics, Snape thought, listening to him talk to his fourth-year potions students one day. He liked the sound of it, and found himself wondering if Potter ever sang, and what that would sound like. He brought himself back to the present to respond to a question the boy had asked him, to clarify something he was discussing with the students listening to him eagerly.

He was a natural teacher, Snape thought. He commanded attention without raising his voice and spoke authoritatively, yet with humility. He never pretended to know more than he did, never hesitated to turn to Snape when students asked something complex. He included Snape naturally and easily in the discussions, referred to him with respect, but without yielding his own authority, told Snape's classes things about the Potions Master's knowledge and skills that Snape didn't even know Potter knew… didn't know how the man knew it. He asked him about it.

"How did you know the Ministry used Veritaserum from my lab for the Death Eater trials?"

"I'm an Auror, Sev," the boy laughed. "I work for the Ministry, remember?"

"How did you know my potion staved off Dumbledore's death after that ring poisoned him?"

"You showed me – those memories you shared. Remember?"

"How did you know I concoct new potions?"

Potter laughed. "Well, for one thing, you don't get to be a Potions _Master_ without having that tendency to experiment!" He shrugged. "I watch you. You experiment all the time. Your journals fill an entire bookcase in your lab, and I recognize your work in _Practical Potions_. I keep up with your publications."

Snape had twitched at that. It had started with a correction he'd sent in irritated into it reading a dangerously, stupidly inaccurate recipe for a simple cleaning potion that would have eaten through not only the item being cleaned, but the skin of the witch or wizard handling the item, or – Merlin forbid – the potion itself. Indeed, in its final form, it would have eaten through the cauldron in which it was brewed – and likely the work surface below it. He'd dashed off a letter of warning and correction, giving the correct formula as well as two alternatives for the potion's use, and received a grateful note from the editor and from the author of the original piece. Reader response to his addendum had been surprisingly gratifying, and after turning down several increasingly insistent requests, he'd finally consented to publish a small article on safety in the potions lab. That had been followed, every third or fourth month, by other articles, gradually including potions of his own devising that he judged safe enough for the general public to use. Minerva had encouraged him to continue, as it kept him… healthy, he supposed.

"I thought you hadn't cracked a book in a while?"

"Journals are different," Potter shrugged and grinned. "Shorter, for one thing. And – you write well. You're very clear. Even when you describe something complex. And… you make potions sound beautiful… artistic, and almost… spiritual."

Snape grimaced at that. "It's a science," he said uncomfortably.

"And an art," the boy countered. "You said so yourself. And you can't tell me that bit about _clarity of intent_ and _the mind and heart of the potioneer _isn't metaphysics!"

Snape stared at the man. _Merlin, you've grown! _he thought, but all he said was, "You're a little more well-read than you let on, Mr. Potter."

The man smiled at him, his eyes twinkling. I've had a couple of good role models – you and Hermione."

Each morning and evening, Snape cleaned the scars on Potter's shoulder, then dosed them with the salve, rubbing it well in around the scars, and dabbing it gently onto them. In the morning treatment sessions, they would talk about whatever classes Potter was visiting that day, in the evening, how it had gone, laughing at times, talking more seriously at others, especially when the talk evoked some bit of Potter's sadness or confusion or anger. The redness in his wound faded slowly, visibly better each morning, visibly irritated every evening.

The awkwardness of the physical contact faded, too, as they got used to it, though dosing the man continued to send shock waves through Snape's fingers to his heart, and elsewhere. He fought to hide it, sometimes successfully, sometimes unsure of that, turning away from Potter's questioning gaze whenever his body threatened to give him away. He took to meditating beforehand, seeking to calm himself. It sometimes worked. He asked the House Elves to use softening agent when they washed Potter's shirts… and his, since the man continued to insist that Snape's were softer against his wounds.


	18. Chapter 18

**The Usual Disclaimer: **Don't know what Jo would think of me playing with her men this way, but... I'm grateful she lets us play with them. She deserves all our galleons and gratitude. I and the boys would be grateful for feedback as payment. Thanks for continuing to read.

* * *

_Saturday, October 26, 2005_

After breakfast the following Saturday, Neville called to them as they stood to leave the Great Hall. "Listen, Harry… I was thinking… I want to invite Ron and Hermione to visit."

Snape flicked his eyes between Neville and Potter, who reddened and ducked his head.

"Uh… Neville… I…" he looked to Snape for help.

"Your _friends_ would like to see you, I imagine, Potter," he said quietly, holding the boy's gaze. "You can't keep doing this to them. It's not fair. You have to give them a chance. If they don't come…" He spread his hands out. "Then you'll know. But at least give them the _choice._ They deserve that much from you."

Potter looked from him to Neville. "They're dying to see you, mate," Neville said.

"Could we… could we do it at home – I mean, in our… in your quarters, Severus? I'd… I'd be more comfortable there."

_Home?_

"Of course. Whatever you need." Snape pictured himself standing behind Potter, hands on the man's shoulders as if he could shield him, protect him – support him, anyway. But… Potter had to face this. It was the only way. He should not be without his friends. He needed them.

"Great!" Neville said. "I invited them for lunch this afternoon."

Potter looked panicked at that for a moment, but then his shoulders slumped and he nodded. "Okay," he said. He was silent on the way back to their quarters, then stopped before entering. "I… I think I'll go for a walk," he said.

Snape nodded. "I'll be catching up on some correspondence… I'll be here if you need me," he added in a quiet voice.

Potter just nodded.

"Potter…" Snape waited until the man was looking at him. "It will be all right. I'm sure of it."

The man inhaled, squared his shoulders, nodded and said, "Thanks, Severus," then turned and headed back down the stairs.

Snape spent the morning writing his weekly missive to Kingsley, half aware that it was busy work Kingsley and Minerva had cooked up between them. _Therapeutic_, Minerva would have said, no doubt, if he'd asked, but he never had. What Kingsley most would want to know, he was sure, was that Potter was… alive… healthy – relatively speaking… safe, for the moment, though Minerva had no doubt already reported that. The Minister had been nearly as frantic as had Potter's friends… as had Snape these past months. Just for a moment, Snape wondered again if he could plant a tracking charm on the boy – something like the Trace – then realized how disrespectful and dangerous that would be. He _did _have the impulse, though.

He thought about sending an Owl to Arthur Weasley, but decided that could wait until after the boy's visit with his friends. Besides, what could he say? '_Tell your son to behave himself'_? Ron was a grown man, married… and neither Snape nor Arthur had the right to tell the men how to conduct their friendship.

_Try and remember that, Sev!_ he commanded himself.

He wasn't worried. Not really. He doubted Potter's friends would throw him over for something like this – even if he _had _tried to kiss Ron. He laughed, picturing it, then felt slightly queasy. He busied himself for a while straightening their quarters, then, lacking anything else to do, took off in search of Minerva. He found her in her study after murmuring "scarlet tartan" to the gargoyle guarding the spiral stair.

"Come," she called, and her door swung open. "Severus! Come in, come in! How are you? How's Potter doing?" She gestured him to the sitting area in front of the merrily burning fire, joined him, and conjured some tea and biscuits.

"Thank you, Minerva. I'm fine. And you?"

She eyed him beadily and said, "You _look _fine. You look better, in fact… better than you've looked in…" She waved a hand. "…years. Having Potter around has been good for you." He twitched a shoulder. She reached over and patted his hand. "It's clear you dote on the boy, Severus."

"_Dote _on him? I don't _dote _on him!" he protested, alarmed. _Do I?_

She laughed. "You've spent his entire life protecting him, Sev. Of course you do. And it's equally obvious that he needs that from you. He looks better already, and it's only been… what? A week?"

"Ten days."

"Well, you're good for each other, that's all I'm saying."

_Good for each other… That would be… all right. _Snape looked at his cup of tea, part of him panicked, part of him warming.

"Severus…"

He looked up to meet Minerva's penetrating gaze. She was smiling at him, a peculiar light in her eyes.

"You know what Dumbledore would say. 'The greatest magic is love.' The boy clings to you like you can save him… and his eyes follow you whenever you're in the room. He loves you, Sev…"

He frowned at that. The headmistress watched him over her cup of tea. "He's just… grateful, maybe… or… something," he said.

She laughed at that. "That's not gratitude on his face when he listens to you or watches you interact with your students. And – you will forgive me for saying so, Severus, but… it's equally clear that you love him."

He shook his head minutely. _What? _"Minerva, I…" _I __what__? Was he going to tell her he had __feelings__ for Potter? Gods, __that__ would be…_

_Impossible. That's what it would be. Impossible. _Minerva… maybe Longbottom… were the closest to friends he had, and the thought of either of them knowing… _No. _He'd die. _My god, what they'd think of him! And Arthur Weasley… Good lord, what would Arthur Weasley think if he took the boy to bed?_

He froze. _Hades and all the hellions of hell, what was he thinking? Oh gods, what am I thinking? _His insides flipped. He had the sudden urge to throw Potter out… or to flee himself and leave Potter… _where? Resident in his quarters? Wearing his shirts? Sleeping in his bed?_

He groaned and put his face in his hands, forgetting, for the moment, that Minerva McGonagall was sitting across from him. Now that he'd said it, thought it, the image was stuck. He couldn't shake it.

_Oh gods, what am I thinking?_

He pictured himself unbuttoning his shirt, approaching Potter under _his _covers… in _his_ room… in _his _bed…

_Merlin, Hecate, Circe and every damned god that ever was,_ he pleaded. _Get this out of my head! Oh gods… _"Oh my god…"

He didn't realize he'd spoken aloud until Minerva said, with soft concern, "What is it, Severus?"

He startled and looked up at her, raw, naked fear on his face – he could feel it. Minerva's sharp mind put it together. He saw the moment it clicked into place for her. _Merlin help him, she knew! _ He shook his head, trying unsuccessfully to deny it, take it back. He couldn't read her expression; it was changing too rapidly. Finally, it settled into… sympathy.

"Oh, Severus," she said. "Does Potter know?"

"_What?_ _No!_ No, of course not! Minerva – I would never… I promise you!"

She put out a hand to stop his panicked reaction.

"Severus! Stop!" she insisted. She looked at him severely. "If you think, for one moment, that I was insinuating you had done anything untoward…" she said with a haughty sniff of disdain.

He was confused, backpedaled. "No – of course not, Headmistress."

"Let's leave titles out of this, Severus. I am your _friend_ – in this and in all things. If I need to speak as your Headmistress, I shall let you know. This is a private matter – between you and Potter, and I speak as your _friend._ The man is an adult, Sev. He's perfectly capable of choosing his own lovers…"

Snape strangled out a protest.

"You're still a young man, Severus… and I'll admit having you pine for the boy these past six years has been… depressing."

_My god, _he thought, horrified. _Was I that transparent?_

Minerva reached over and patted his knee. "Don't worry, Sev. I doubt more than a few of us know that he means that much to you."

_What? _He turned shocked eyes to hers. "Who…?" he choked out.

"Well, I daresay Sprout and Flitwick are likely to have figured it out, based on things they've said to me. And…" She heaved a sigh and snorted in disgust. "Both Trelawney and Firenze have made their usual cryptic remarks." She sniffed disdainfully. "Though at least Sybill has stopped predicting student deaths every term."

"Oh, gods… _Minerva_…" He dropped his head to his hands again.

"Severus… do you know if the man…? The reason I ask is that… he broke up with Ginny Weasley years ago and… he hasn't been paired with anyone else since, and… the boy trails after you in the castle looking like a moonstruck calf."

_What? _Snape raised his head and looked at her, continually horrified. He swallowed. "Minerva, I… if Potter… has shared anything of the sort with me… it would… it would not be mine to share. I would hold it in the strictest confidence."

She smiled warmly at him and patted his knee again. "Of course, Severus. But if he is so inclined… you should tell him."

He shook his head in denial.

"Love is the most powerful magic there is, Sev. You should know by now that that's true. Don't deny it."

Both of them flicked their eyes to the Dumbledore's portrait, where he appeared to be sleeping. Snape had the most uncomfortable feeling that the old Headmaster was awake and listening to every word.

_And he knew. _His repeated Legilimency… the memories and feelings Snape had dumped into Dumbledore's damned Pensieve every time he'd gone to a meeting of the Death Eaters… _Dumbledore knew. _He wondered if the former Headmaster had told Minerva, or if she'd figured it out herself. _Wait… didn't she just figure it out? But then, Sprout… Flitwick…?_ Not that it mattered. _Did it? _He put his head in his hands again, rubbing at his temples with his thumbs and shaking his head.

"I know, Minerva… but…"

"Give the man the choice, Severus."

_Damn. _He snorted softly and shook his head. His own words, flung back at him… _Give your friends a chance, Potter… Give them the choice… it's only fair._

_That was different, wasn't it?_

_Was__ it? Give the man a chance to love you anyway… Give him a chance to accept you… Give him a choice… _

_ Damn. _

_What am I supposed to do – say_ '_I love you'? Gods! _Those words had never passed his lips. Not once. Not ever in his life. Not even to the boy's mother.He groaned again.

_This is ridiculous,_ he thought. _It was supposed to be __Lily__, not her __son__, for the love of Merlin! But… _Images of the boy… the _man… _shoved any recollection of Lily from his mind. _Oh, gods! _He struggled to master himself, but his heart was pounding a terrified tempo and his hands shook as he lowered them from his face and clasped them between his knees.

"Minerva, I…"

"_Tell _him, Severus. You need to tell him… for yourself… You need to know, one way or the other. It's the only way for you to move on, whether he returns your affection or not. And it's not fair to him to hold it back. _Tell _him!"

_I __can't__, _he thought.

She must have read that on his face, too.

"You're a true Gryffindor, Severus," she said softly. "Our passions run deep. When we love, we love with all our hearts… We'd give _anything_ for those we love."

_Anything_, his heart reminded him. _Damn._

He sat several moments longer before he found the strength to beg leave to go. "I… I should get back. His friends are coming for a visit. Neville arranged it. I… should be there to greet them…" He was looking anywhere but at the Headmistress.

"Well, it's about time!" she said acerbically, and stood to escort him to the door. "How long will they be staying?"

"Through dinner, I imagine, if all goes well."

"Let's hope that it does. I've about had it with all this drama – as if the boy needs more of that," she finished in a softer tone. "Severus," she said, putting a hand on his arm as he turned toward the door. He turned back. "It's not absence of fear that makes a man brave. It's acting _despite_ the fear. You know you have my support – whatever happens, don't you? Let me know…"

He forced himself to look her in the eyes and tried not to let his fear show. _Hopeless. _"I will, Minerva." _No, he bloody well wouldn't! _"I… Thank you," he finished softly, and turned to go, a shaking hand turning the door handle.

_Holy mother of Merlin_, he thought as he let the spiral stair take him down.He shook his head. _Holy mother of Merlin… what was I thinking? What am I thinking? _He tried to shove the images that had formed as he sat in Minerva's office out of his head, but they kept stubbornly intruding.

Potter…

_No!_

Potter…

_Oh, Merlin – stop!_

Potter…

_Good god, how was he going to get through this? _He quailed at the thought that it would show… Hermione, Ron, Neville… _Potter._

_Merlin and all the sons of Hecate, what was he supposed to do with this? Was there time to meditate before the man's friends came? _He wished he had a watch… His disorientation was such that his sense of time had fled. He couldn't even judge the time by the light and shadows formed by the sun filtering through the windows as he paced the halls to return to Gryffindor Tower. He half wanted to head out the doors and… _do what? Pace the grounds? Head to Hogsmeade? Return to Spinner's End? _He wanted to vomit.

_Calm__ yourself, damn it!_

He almost – _almost _– wanted to head to the dungeons and hide. But neither his quarters nor his classes were down there anymore, moved to lighter and warmer quarters in deference to his injuries and his change of House. _Some Gryffindor!_

The walk quieted him nonetheless, and he was at least breathing normally when he arrived at the base of the Tower, where dispersing a group of Gryffindors loitering at the bottom of the stairs returned him to himself. He went to open the door to his quarters, only to have the handle jerked out of his hand. He found himself face-to-face with Potter, whose momentum carried him forward into Snape before either of them could step aside. Snape grabbed him about the shoulders and Potter grabbed at his waist, both of them working to keep the other from losing their balance.

"Potter! Watch where you're going!" he said, more harshly than he intended. He snatched his hands off Potter's shoulders as if they burned. His chest tightened where the man had bumped into him. His skin burned where the man's hands had been. _Stop it!_

"Sorry! I was looking for you. Where'd you go? You said you'd be here," Potter said accusingly.

"I was meeting with… the Headmistress." He looked at the man curiously. "Is everything all right? Was there something you needed?"

"No. I… I just wanted to talk before Ron and Hermione…"

"Of course." He could understand that. He gestured the man back into their – _his _– quarters. _No!_ He couldn't help glancing toward his bedroom as they entered. _No! Stop that, damn it!_ He shook his head. _Focus__, Severus._

He gestured toward the table, rather than the sitting area. Potter hesitated, then took up his normal spot. Snape pulled out the chair opposite and sat down, grateful for … the… coverage. He snorted and shook his head at himself.

"What?" Potter asked.

He rubbed his forehead and blew out a sigh.

"Nothing… What did you need, Potter?"

"Harry."

He nodded. "Sorry." He found himself studying the man's face, his hairline, his eyes, his lips as he talked… _No, damn it! _He shifted his eyes to the man's hands, noting a faint scar on the back of his left hand, a leftover from that bitch Umbridge. Potter's hands were smaller than his… but then, everything about him was smaller…

_NO! __Damn__ it!_

He was wearing one of Snape's shirts again – softer on his skin… softer against his scars, he said… He wondered if the scars were softening under his care of them

_Holy mother of Merlin, help me!_

He dragged his eyes and his attention back to what Potter was saying, firmly turning his mind away from what his body was insisting he attend to.

_No! Bloody hell, Sev, you're forty-five, not sixteen. Grow up!_

Some part of him snickered. He stifled a groan.


	19. Chapter 19

**The Usual Disclaimer:** Characters and setting: JKRowling Money: JKRowling Plot: me. Reviews: you... to me. Please?

* * *

He followed Ron out into the study. Potter was getting ready to go out, and Hermione was standing close to him, still talking urgently. "Don't forget your scarf," Snape said as the boy threw on his cloak. "It's cold out." Hermione and Ron exchanged a look. Snape looked away uncomfortably and shook his head. _Idiot._

Potter threw a look at Hermione, glanced at Snape, took his scarf from the peg by the door and gestured to Ron to precede him. "We won't be long, Hermione," he said. "Promise." Hermione laughed and waved them off. Ron bent to kiss her, and headed out the door, followed by Potter.

"Can I get you some more tea?" Snape offered as the door closed behind the boys.

"That would be _lovely_," Hermione said with a sigh, sinking somewhat awkwardly into a chair. Snape waved over the hassock and she lifted her legs, groaning slightly. He tried not to feel alarmed, and went to his kitchen to make a fresh pot of tea. Her eyes were closed when he came back, and for a moment he thought she was sleeping, but her eyes opened as he set the tray on the table.

"Comfortable enough?" he asked. "Is there anything you need?"

"Yes, I'm comfortable, and other than milk, nothing, thanks," she said with a smile. "Will you join me?"

"Of course." He busied himself pouring the tea, not adding honey to hers, given her pregnancy. He handed her a cup and she took it, sipping with a long sigh. "Oh, that's perfect, Professor. Thank you so much!"

"It's _Severus_, Miss Granger – I mean, Mrs. Weasley."

She laughed. "That's Molly – Ron's mom, not me. I'm just Hermione."

"Hardly _just _Hermione," he said. "Your professional work is impressive."

She colored and murmured, "Thank you," and took another sip of her tea. "So – Harry," she said.

_Damn. _He took a deep breath. _Well… that was inevitable. _"What about him?" he asked cautiously. When she said nothing but just watched him over the rim of her teacup, he shifted in his chair and cocked his head at her. "What is it, Miss Grange – Hermione?"

"He's looking better."

"So Ron tells me."

"We were so worried, you know. We sent him owls… He never accepted our letters. I didn't know what happened… Then Ron told me, and…" She laughed. "You should have seen his face – it matched his hair."

Snape's eyes glinted and his mouth twitched.

"I told him he had to find Harry and tell him it was all right. Well – not that he kissed Ron – he's _mine _and I'm _not _sharing," she said fiercely but with humor. "But – just to tell him we understood, and… Oh – it made so much _sense_! I could have _kicked_ myself – all those times we tried to patch things up between him and Ginny… How _could _I have been so _stupid_?"

Snape murmured something reassuring.

"I know, but – Oh, it's all my fault!"

Snape was alarmed to see her eyes fill with tears. "I hardly think it was your fault, Miss Gra-…"

"It _was_, though! If I hadn't brought Ginny over, she'd never have… and Harry wouldn't have…"

Snape hesitated. "Maybe he needed that… to make it clear in his mind… to make it clear to the rest of you. I imagine he would have had a hard time simply saying it. Especially as he was so isolated at the time. I'm not sure he fully understood it himself, from what he's told me."

"Yeah," she sighed, wiping at her eyes. "I suppose you're right. But… I could _kill _him for frightening us like that!"

"_Indeed,_" Snape seconded, rather more strongly than he had intended.

Hermione looked at him piercingly. "You really care about him, don't you?"

_That's the third time today_, he thought. He snorted. _Clearly, I'm not doing a very good job of hiding it. I used to be able to hide these things… Occlude… _He swallowed, then laughed uncomfortably and nodded. "Yes," he said after a moment. "Yes – I do. As do you."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "He loves you, you know."

"He's grateful."

"No – he loves you… You know… like _that."_

_What am I supposed to say to that? _He inhaled slowly, carefully, his heart thumping. "I'm hardly…" he said, looking down at his teacup, wishing there was some answer there… to some question he couldn't even formulate. _What am I supposed to do with that?_

"You love him, too, don't you?" Hermione said after a long moment.

_There it was. Tell the truth, Sev. Merlin… tell the truth?_

He closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead. "Miss Gr – _Hermione. _Sorry. I… I'm hardly in a place to…"

"Why not?"

_Why not? _"Miss Granger," he said, looking up rather desperately and suddenly feeling no older than sixteen… maybe – _maybe _twenty-five. "I'm too old for him. And… I killed his parents."

"No, you didn't. Voldemort did," she said, as if she had expected that from him. "And… you nearly died for him. I should think you've paid that debt."

Obviously, she and Ron had talked about this.

"And as for age," she went on, unstoppable now that she'd got going, "twenty years is nothing_ – nothing _when it comes to love. Some of the most powerful love stories in the wizarding world are about the love between people with _lots _more years between them than you and Harry. The other day, I was reading…"

She stopped and laughed. "Sorry. It's always books for me."

Snape hardly minded the interruption. He was staring at her in shock. _Love stories?_

"The point, Prof – _Severus_…" and she looked at him severely, looking for a moment rather a lot like Minerva McGonagall, "is that _love _is the most important thing… the most powerful bond. Harry loves you… and you love him. Don't deny it! I see the way you look at him. _You love him_… and… he needs you, I think."

"I'd do anything for him," he said without thinking, not really looking at her… not really looking at anything. _What am I saying? _He stopped talking and looked up to find her eyes bright with tears.

"Oh, Professor, I know you would."

He looked at her helplessly. "I don't know how to do this," he said. _Damn. Why was he confiding in a twenty-five year old?_

"You've never been in love, have you?" Hermione said slowly, as if she'd just realized it. "You've never had time. You were always protecting him. My god – no wonder you're in love with him."

"In love?" Snape thought his heart stopped… before stuttering into motion again.

"He's been your entire world… your entire life, hasn't he? Oh, Severus…" Hermione said softly, and the look on her face was… sympathetic. "You haven't told him, have you?" she asked.

He just looked at her, but his head gave an involuntary shake. He wasn't processing this. This was happening too fast… this conversation was happening too fast – like his conversation with Minerva. He peered more closely at the witch across from him. _She does look a bit like Minerva, _he thought, and then felt, suddenly, like some schoolboy called to the Headmistress' office.

"You need to tell him. He _needs _you, Professor… and he needs to know that you love him. He feels so guilty…"

"Guilty?" he asked, startled. "For what?"

"He thinks he's imposing on you… that you've only got him here out of guilt or pity or something."

"That's hardly why…"

"_I know_. But don't you see? He wants so much for you to love him… and he's so afraid to hope…. that he's telling himself all _kinds_ of things to try to keep from being disappointed… to keep it from hurting."

_I have no intention of hurting him._

"Oh!" Hermione groaned, and Snape looked up in alarm.

"Are you all right?"

"Yes – but… _boys!_" she said, laughing and shaking her head. "Look, I know this is not like you. You're such a private person… but… you _can't _let him go without telling him. You _can't._ He deserves to _know_, at least… and you two should at least _see_… at least give it a chance."

"Miss Gran – _Hermione,_" he ground out, clasping his teacup with trembling hands. "_If _and _when _I tell Harry _anything_…"

_My god, what was he thinking? What was he thinking? Tell the boy what, exactly? 'See' what, exactly? _He stopped, confused. Hermione's lips twitched in a smile. He looked down at his teacup, then abruptly stood and placed it on the table next to him. "I… I have a potion to attend to." That was a lie, but he had to get out of here. "Can I get you anything?"

"No, Professor. I don't need anything. You've been very kind."

He looked at her blankly for a moment, confused. _I've__ been kind?_

"I think I'll just take a nap."

"As you wish." He hesitated. "Miss… Hermione…"

"Yes, Prof… Severus?" She laughed. "We'll have to get used to that."

"Indeed. I just wanted to say… thank you."

She dimpled. "Any time you want to talk… you know where to find me."

He frowned, shook his head and laughed in confusion. _Who's the teacher here? _He turned to go to his lab, turned back, and _Accio'd_ a throw from his room and waved it to settle on the girl. She sighed and closed her eyes, a soft smile on her lips.

He tried to work on potions, but concentrating was impossible. After a while, he gave it up, and sat in his lab, trying to figure out… everything. _Love_, he supposed. His heart kept speeding up and slowing down… and he felt alternately warm and cold. He warmed when he thought of Potter. He did love the man, he admitted with a groan, putting his head in his hands… and he could trace the path of that, from before the boy's birth through his arrival at Hogwarts… through every damned Potions and Defense and Occlumancy lesson… every corridor encounter.

And then he would turn cold because… it was impossible… and terrifying… He didn't know how to begin… if he would ever, could ever begin. And… what if the boy – the man – rejected him, or laughed at him, or didn't believe him, or…? And more importantly, what if he was just simply _wrong_ for the man? _No – impossible. He could not do this… __should__ not do this. Harry – oh gods, Harry – he needed someone else, someone younger… someone more appropriate…_

Some part of him got angry at that. _Why am I not appropriate? Other than age? _

_You killed his parents._

He had no answer to that. His heart and his fingers chilled, thinking about it. And then his thoughts circled back to Harry…_ Potions lessons… the man lying on his sofa… crying softly after a nightmare… wincing when Snape tended his wounds… wearing Snape's shirts… telling stories to the Gryffindors… confiding in him… _ And his heart would warm again.


	20. Chapter 20

**The Usual Disclaimer: **If you've read this far, you already know. This chapter is longer because I couldn't figure out where to break it. You'll like it tho, so happy reading. Reviews? Please?

Neville joined them for dinner, thank Hecate. The five of them talked about… safe topics – Hagrid, Neville's teaching, and events in the Weasley family and the Ministry. Snape mostly sat and listened, his soul warming at it, having them all here. _He'd missed them all,_ he realized. They were such adults now, truly wonderful people. Of course, how could they not be? Their experiences had not only forged an unbreakable bond between them, but had made them cherish life, and each other, and everyone else they knew or had known. _I should learn from that_, he thought. _Merlin, he loved them all! _It brought a smile to his face, and nearly brought him to tears. _What's happening to me, these days? Potter. It's Potter._

Snape, Neville and Potter walked Ron and Hermione to the gates of the school. Ron insisted on getting his wife home before midnight, so she could rest. She did not argue the point, and looked at him with a soft, loving smile. Potter hugged Ron – rather awkwardly, Snape noted, and then Hermione, more enthusiastically. Snape and Neville shook Ron's hand, and Neville hugged Hermione and kissed her on the cheek. She took the matter out of Snape's hands by hugging him, as well, and surprised him by kissing his cheek and whispering, "Take care of him." He nodded at her rather numbly.

He sang the unwarding, and he, Potter, and Neville watched as the couple disapparated, more comfortable for the pregnant witch than the nauseating disorientation of the Floo network. Neville turned toward the greenhouses and his quarters, waving them off and telling them he'd see them at breakfast.

"How did it go?" he asked Potter on the way back from the gates.

Potter laughed and scratched an ear. "After Ron tore the mickey out of me for scaring them, you mean?"

Snape said nothing at first. "You shouldn't do that to the people who love you, Potter," he said finally.

"Harry."

"You shouldn't do that to us." He realized a moment later what he'd said, catching it only because Potter turned to look at him, some intense look on his face. _Damn it. Can't you watch what's coming out of your mouth? _He looked down at his hands and then off to his right, toward the Black Lake and away from the boy.

"You're right, Sev. I'm sorry," the boy said after a moment.

He swallowed and nodded. "See that you don't do it again, then." _Please_, he added silently.

"I won't… Sorry."

He turned to look at the man, his eyes visible only because they reflected starlight. _Whatever you need, Potter,_ he thought… _except disappearing like that_.

"Your visit with Hagrid go all right?"

"Yeah."

"And… did you discuss…"

"With Hagrid? No."

"No, I meant with your friends… with Ron and Hermione."

Potter rubbed at his ear again – a nervous habit, Snape realized. Better than rubbing at the scar on his forehead, but still, something he should learn to control as an Auror. If he planned to stay an Auror, that is.

"Yeah, I… we talked about it."

Snape waited for him to go on.

"They… they're okay with it."

"Of course."

"Ron doesn't want me to kiss him, though," Potter said with a smile in his voice.

Snape snorted at that. "I doubt Hermione would take kindly to you snogging her husband – even if he _is_ your best friend."

Potter laughed. "Good thing I'm not interested in him, then."

_Who __are__ you interested in? _Snape wanted to ask, but as that was a dangerous question, he held his peace. They walked on in silence.

"Cup of tea before bed?" He winced at his phrasing, then shook his head. _Normal. It's normal to ask. It's okay_. But whatever had been normal before his conversation with Minerva, with Hermione… had become… strange, awkward, infused with double meaning now. _Just __be__, Severus. Just… act. Just be normal. It's all right,_ he tried to tell himself.

"Yeah… that would be good. I'm not ready for bed yet," the boy said.

He almost laughed at that. _Stop it!_ he ordered himself, his lips twitching.

"Race you to the door," Potter said into the silence.

"What?"

"Come on, old man – let's see what you've got!" the boy challenged. Snape narrowed his eyes at him.

"_Old?_" he said dangerously.

Potter laughed, took off at a jog, and turned to taunt him. "Catch me, then!" he called, and turned and ran.

Snape watched him a moment, then laughed and ran, knowing he'd never catch the younger man, but feeling… exhilarated… at the challenge of it.

Potter beat him to it, of course, collapsing on the top step to the school and waiting for Snape to catch up. Snape took the steps two at a time, and came up panting, bending over, his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath.

"Not bad, for an old guy," Potter said between breaths, his own chest heaving.

Snape snarled and swiped at the man's head. Potter pulled back out of reach, laughing. Snape put out a hand to pull the man to his feet, and Potter, in turn, clapped his other arm around Snape's shoulder, straightening him up. They jostled for position at the door to the castle. Snape shouldered Potter aside, and they entered the front hall laughing, disturbing Mrs. Norris, who streaked off to report to Filch.

"Oh, Merlin!" Snape said, rolling his eyes. "Let's get out of here. Last thing I need tonight is a lecture from Filch about coming in late!" He glanced at Potter, bunched his muscles, and took off for Gryffindor Tower at a sprint. Potter squawked at his back, grabbing at his robe to hold him back. They arrived at the door to his quarters panting and laughing.

Snape murmured the password and opened the door, nodding for Potter to precede him. The man passed him close enough to brush his arm, and Snape felt his chest react to that. _Damn. He'd have to be careful._

To distract himself, he went directly to the kitchen to put the kettle to boil slowly over the flame, then to his room to shed his robe. Potter used the bathroom, then trailed after him to the kitchen. "I shouldn't let you wait on me," he said.

"Why?"

"Well, as I've been here more than a week, I should stop playing guest and play housemate… pick up after myself, do some chores, cook… don't you think?"

_Housemate… _"If you like," Snape said carefully.

"Do you mind?" the boy asked.

"Mind what?" Snape kept an eye on the tea kettle, pulled out mugs, tea, honey and milk, unwilling to make eye contact. His eyes flashed to the boy's face and away.

"D'you mind that I'm here this long? I've kinda' moved in on you… disrupted your library…"

"No," Snape said, working to keep his tone neutral. "I don't mind."

"Why not?"

Snape turned off the flame, and turned to look at the boy. _Because I want you here, _he thought. The boy met his eyes, and Snape wondered if he could read that. One corner of his mouth lifted in a wry smile. He gestured with his chin. "Take your tea," he said, and gestured the man toward the study.

He let Potter choose where to sit and was unsurprised when he led them to the fire, which was burning low. Potter waved at it without drawing his wand, and it burned warmer. He took up his spot on the sofa, and Snape took the chair to his left, loosened the top button on his shirt, and leaned back, stretching out his long thin legs.

Potter mimicked his pose, then tapped Snape's shoes with his toes again. Snape allowed it – at least partly because he didn't know how to get the man to stop – his own toes twitching in reaction. Potter sipped at his tea, staring into the fire. Snape watched the flames dance over his face, and found himself tallying the differences between the _boy_ Potter and the _man_.

His features were more… settled. His face was more angular, partly due to his weight loss, but also due to maturity and the loss of whatever remained of the adolescent there had been, six years ago. His eyes were deeper, more haunted. _Of course they would be,_ Snape thought, _given all he'd been through. _He hadn't grown any taller in six years, and was leaner – not just thinner, but more muscled. He was a man now, Snape realized… no longer a boy. Some part of him regretted that. When had the boy ever had the chance to be a child? That had stopped nearly the day he'd arrived at Hogwarts.

"I remember," they both said, talking over each other then laughing simultaneously. Snape waved a hand. "You first."

"I was thinking about my first day here," Potter said, looking back at the fire. "The Sorting ceremony. I remember nearly all of it…"

"I don't imagine any of us forget it… our own Sorting, I mean."

"Do you remember yours?"

"Crystal clear."

Potter nodded. "I was thinking about afterward again… sitting at Gryffindor's table… I looked up at the head table… I don't even remember why – looking for Hagrid or Dumbledore, maybe. But for some reason, I was looking at you. I asked Percy who that professor was, talking to Quirrell."

"How did you know who Quirrell was?"

"Hagrid and I ran into him in the Leaky Cauldron, when we went to Diagon Alley. You were looking at him funny… and then you turned and looked at me. My scar burned. That was the first time it did that. I thought it was you… but it was Quirrell."

Snape nodded and watched the man, waiting for him to go on. He did not. Snape turned to look in the fire, wondering what other memories the boy saw there.

"I was in the North Tower when the boats crossed the Lake."

"Why? Did you always watch them cross the Lake?"

"No," he admitted. "But… I knew you were on one of those boats. We all did. The entire faculty knew when you became eligible to start school, and Minerva had told us when your owl came back, saying you'd come."

"Why were you watching, then?"

"Why?" He warmed his hands against the sides of his tea cup and took a sip while he thought about it. "I had been guarding you already..."

Potter looked up, startled.

"There'd been a rotating watch on you ever since your parents… died…"

"Why? Voldemort was dead – at least that's what you thought, didn't you?"

He shrugged. "Dumbledore and I never trusted that – not completely. He was a devious, desperate man. All we knew was that he was gone, Lily and James were dead, and you… survived. Anyway, there were Death Eaters who would have wanted revenge… And it took a while to set up the protections at your aunt and uncle's house… strong enough, anyway… the way we wanted them…"

"I thought Dumbledore did that."

"He did, of course… but others of us helped. Minerva, Hagrid, even… Me – though that was controversial."

"Why?"

Snape looked at him, then down at his tea. "It was known that I… had been… a Death Eater… It was widely believed that I had subverted your godfather – that he'd come over to the Dark Lord's side because I had gotten to him, through his brother. His brother was a Death Eater, as well."

"He quit, though."

Snape was confused. "Who?"

"Regulus."

"What makes you think that?"

"I don't _think_ it. I _know_ it. Regulus found out that Voldemort was making Horcruxes. Kreacher… he… Voldemort needed a house elf to test a poison… a potion… one of the ways he was protecting Horcruxes. Slytherin's locket. He put it in a basin of poisoned water, and he tested it on Kreacher."

"Regulus let Voldemort test poison on Kreacher?" Snape felt sick.

"No. Regulus didn't know why Voldemort wanted to borrow a house elf. He told Kreacher to help Voldemort and then come right back home… so he did… and Regulus was able to save him. When Kreacher told him what Voldemort had done, Regulus – he must have gotten some sense… because he went back… and drank the poison, and swapped the Horcrux for a fake locket, and told Kreacher to destroy the real one. And then he died."

"My god… I didn't know."

Potter nodded. "No one knew. He told Kreacher not to tell, in order to keep his family safe. But Kreacher couldn't destroy the locket. He punished himself for it, repeatedly. It's part of why he was so mad. He kept trying, failing, and punishing himself… We had to do it in the end. Ron stabbed it with the Sword... after he saved me from that pool." He looked up at Snape. "I was drowning because the locket was strangling me. The bit of Voldemort was trying to survive… I'd been wearing it for safe keeping."

He rubbed his chest, and Snape remembered an oval, burn-like scar on the boy's chest. He shook his head. "He figured it out younger than I did, then," he said.

"Well, he had help – Kreacher."

Snape made a mental note to be extra attentive to Kreacher, and had a sudden impulse to add Kreacher to his list of people to protect, right after Potter.

"How did you figure this out?"

"Dumbledore and I had the fake locket. We'd gone after the locket the night he died. And then, after we went on the run – me, Ron and Hermione – we ended up at Grimmauld Place."

Snape twitched at that. "I went there… looking for you."

"Yeah. I know."

"I thought you might have gone there… but I must have been too early."

"What would you have done if you'd found us?"

"Told you the truth… as much of the truth as I knew."

"We wouldn't have believed you."

"I know."

"I would have tried to kill you."

Snape looked at the boy. "I know," he said softly. "I… I think I might have let you," he admitted.

"Why? You were innocent."

"Of murder, perhaps. _That_ murder, anyway… but…"

"Then why?"

He put his tea aside and laced his fingers together loosely, letting them dangle between his knees, his thumbs lightly tracing the scars on the inside of his wrists.

"I didn't feel much like living at that point. Dumbledore was dead – by my hand. Dumbledore had told me that you… would have to die… that you would lose your life… _must _lose it… that the Dark Lord would have to kill you… that I was supposed to… facilitate that… tell you, at the right time. I couldn't face that… didn't want to face it. And… you hated me. Everyone did. There wasn't much point in going on. Everything I loved was dead… or doomed… The only way out for me was going to be death. I knew that."

"Yeah, but…"

"If it hadn't been you, it would have been Voldemort… or Minerva, maybe. Or any member of the Order. It doesn't matter. You weren't there. I don't know… if I would have let you, anyway. You didn't need that on your soul."

"Severus," the boy said.

He raised his eyes to the boy.

"It's _not your fault_."

A bit of a sad smile showed on Snape's face. _Severus… it's not your fault… Merlin… how he'd craved those words! _"I wish that were true, but it was I who told the Dark Lord about the prophecy. Without that, none of this would have happened."

"Maybe not… or not quite this way… but _someone_ would have had to take him down… someone else's son… or maybe it would have been me anyway. Trelawney did make that prediction, after all – before you were even in on it. Maybe you were meant to hear it. Maybe it _had _to be this way."

"I've never been able to figure that out," Snape said slowly. "Whether it was inevitable… whether it would have been this way anyway…"

It boggled the mind. How far did the lines of inevitability go back? To Lily being Sorted into Gryffindor and he into Slytherin? To their meeting, Snape telling her she was a witch? Back to his birth and hers, far before Potter's… Harry's? Was it all fate? What about free will and choice?

"Severus…" The boy waited until Snape looked up again. "You protected me my whole life. You almost gave your life for me. You _did _give your life for me – you just survived it. It's still protecting me…"

"What do you mean?"

"I should have died. In the fight – with McKinnon. He used the _Avada Kedavra_."

Snape blinked. "What?"

"He missed… narrowly. It hit a curio cabinet… and that fell on me. He tried to come at me again, but… I was pinned under the cabinet… it felt like my wand arm was nearly severed…"

Snape blanched at that.

"I couldn't move… but my wand was under me, and I got at it with my other hand, just in time… and… He went to throw it again – the killing curse. I used the _Sectumsempra_ on him. My aim wasn't good, because it was my left hand…" The boy shook his head, lost in the memory. "I didn't mean to kill him. He bled to death before I could get the cabinet off of me."

Snape sat watching the man a moment, wishing again that he could take it away, make it better. He shook his head. "I don't see what that has to do with me."

Potter looked up and reddened a bit. "Just before he threw that curse at me," he said, "I was thinking of the _Sectumsempra_… getting ready to use it… and of the _Vulnerasanentor_, just in case… and I remembered you using the _Vulnera_… on Draco Malfoy… and then I remembered your doe, your Patronus… and I felt this warmth…" He held his hand up to his chest over his heart. "Right here… and then he threw that curse. He was so close… as close as you are to me right now. There's no way he could have missed. But I was protected… because you died for me… you renewed my protection. He couldn't touch me."

Snape watched him… and his need to protect him, to keep him safe, overwhelmed him again. _I'd do anything… _he thought, and fought the urge to grab the boy and hold him, shield him… always. He knew it showed… felt it burn in his eyes, blazing at the boy. He lowered his gaze to his hands.

"I'd do anything…" he said.

Neither of them said anything for a while.

"Every year, it got harder," Snape said, finally breaking the silence.

"What did?"

"All of it. Protecting you…" _Caring about you. _"When you were Sorted into Gryffindor… It was a relief."

"I was almost Sorted into Slytherin."

"What?"

"The Hat – it told me I'd be good in Slytherin. But I asked for Gryffindor."

A muscle in Snape's jaw twitched. "You belong there."

"So do you," the boy said, gesturing at the room.

Snape shrugged uncomfortably.

"You're the bravest man I've ever known, Professor."

"Severus."

The boy twitched in irritation. Snape didn't blame him. "Sorry, Potter."

"Why do you do that?"

"What?"

"Call me 'Potter' instead of 'Harry'?"

_Why? He knew why. Distance. A way to keep himself from thinking about what he wanted… A way to remind himself that the boy was James' son… a boy. _He looked away, into the fire.

"When you came to Hogwarts… that first day – the first class, I mean, I was prepared to hate you. I _wanted _to hate you. You were James' son… I think I wanted to believe… if you hadn't been born… or had been born a day later, maybe… Lily would still be alive…"

"But then Neville would be dead – or his parents would."

"They're as good as."

"Yeah."

"But… it didn't work that way. I… I wanted to… harass you… I _did _harass you."

"Yeah, you did," Potter said with a snort.

Snape jerked a shoulder. "I know," he said softly. "I'm sorry. I… you stood up to me."

"I remember. Bit cheeky, wasn't I?"

"No. Yes. But… I deserved it… or… in any case, it was good. You needed to do that. I needed you to do that."

"Why?"

Snape turned to look at the man, looked into his eyes, remembering. "I made the mistake – I think it was a mistake – of coming too close, of looking you in the eyes. When I pulled up that stool and sat across from you that first day, I intended to… intimidate you, but…" He shrugged. "I told Dumbledore it was your eyes – Lily's eyes… and your father's hair… that you were arrogant. But… you weren't. Well – maybe a little." His face quirked in a half smile.

Potter laughed and kept looking at him. Snape searched his face, and the boy's face, at eleven, overlaid on top of the man's. He shivered.

"They weren't Lily's eyes. Well – they were, but… it wasn't Lily looking at me… nor James, under that hair. You were always… _you – _some unique combination of the two of them, maybe… but you didn't choose the coolest classmates to hang out with, as James had done, nor the popular crowd like Lily. You chose the poorest boy in the school - Ron, the least impressive student – Neville, and the bookworm witch… the mediocre wizards and witches… and you befriended them."

"Ron and Hermione _are_ cool… so are Luna and Neville. And _none_ of them is mediocre," the boy said defensively.

"I know, Potter. I know that now, but not then. I misjudged them. I'm sorry." He shook his head. "I made lots of mistakes."

"I'm not sure."

"What do you mean?"

"I think… it worked out the way it had to. It all led to… to Voldemort's defeat, didn't it? Maybe it had to be that way. Maybe if you'd been kind to me, I wouldn't have been strong enough. Maybe if you'd been kind to Ron and Hermione and Neville… maybe we wouldn't have bonded so tightly. Maybe they wouldn't have gone with me – to the Ministry… on the run… Maybe Neville wouldn't have been strong enough to lead the D.A."

Snape stared at him, thinking of Potter going through school and that last, disastrous year, alone. He'd never have succeeded. He'd needed them – Hermione's logic and brains, Ron's loyalty, Neville's leadership in his stead… He'd needed – the Wizarding and Muggle worlds had needed – their courage.

"Perhaps," he said. They sat together, figuring it out, each of them lost in thought for a while.

"You said it got harder each year," Potter said.

"You know that map of your father's?"

"Yeah – the Marauder's Map."

"Yes – the one he, and Sirius and Remus and… Pettigrew… came up with."

"Yeah. I still have it."

Snape's mouth twitched in a smile. "I had a map like that in my head, I think. Except it took in… Little Whinging… Hogsmeade… wherever you were. I think I… navigated my life with that damned map in my head… and the only dot that mattered was yours… your friends, too… and Draco, sometimes," he added dryly.

Potter laughed.

"But it wouldn't have existed without you. There would have been no need. You were the center of my world,"he said, and then wished he hadn't. _Too close, Severus. _But he couldn't help it.

"You were… the reason I kept breathing. After Lily died, I wanted to kill myself… but Dumbledore pointed out… _What use would that be to anybody? _For ten years, it was about Lily… but when you came to school…" He looked away. "It changed." He snapped his fingers. "Just like that. I… resented it. All of a sudden, Lily didn't matter."

He looked at Potter out of the corner of his eye. The man looked puzzled. It had puzzled him at first, too – his near-obsessive, nearly painful awareness of the boy. The boy had fascinated him. He shifted uncomfortably, thinking about it.

"Every year, you got older… the danger greater… When your name came out of that damned TriWizard Cup, I…" He put a hand to his forehead, remembering, shaking his head. "I… I didn't know what it meant… I thought someone had it in for you, but… I didn't know… I'm sorry," he said, and did not hear Potter's sound of protest. "I should have counseled against it."

"There wasn't any choice, though," Potter said. "It was a binding contract, like Dumbledore and Crouch said. I'd have been sucked in anyway, one way or another. If I hadn't been prepared, it could have been worse."

"… Yes… that's true, I suppose."

"It's my fault Diggory died."

"What? Why?"

"Because I told him to take the Cup with me. Else, he wouldn't have ended up in that graveyard with me."

Snape shook his head. "That doesn't make it your fault."

"No – only as much my fault as it is yours."

Snape stared at him, stunned. "What?"

"It's _not your fault, _Severus. None of it is. I don't mean your choices didn't matter, but… I've thought about this… a _lot_, and… I just don't see it that way. Any of it." He looked at Snape intently, meaningfully. "_Any _of it," he repeated. "You're a _good man_, Severus. We all make mistakes." He snorted. "Lord knows, I have."

Snape felt his eyes fill with tears and turned his head to surreptitiously wipe them away.

_It's not your fault, Severus._

_Merlin and all the gods, he wished that were true._

"Is that why you do this?"

"Do what?"

"Let me stay here, defer to me, wait on me, buy me clothes… tell me 'Anything'?"

"Yes. No. I don't know… Partly, perhaps."

"Because if that's it… I want you to stop," the boy said almost angrily.

Snape swallowed. "Of course – if you wish…" He shook his head. "Sorry…" He shook his head again, trapped. "I'm sorry… I don't know how to work my way out of that, I think."

"Well, _try._ It's bloody annoying. I don't _need_ your _guilt._"

"Of course. I'm sorr…" He shook his head and clamped his lips against the next _I'm sorry _that wanted to work its way out of his mouth. "What… what _do_ you need from me?"

"Honesty."

_Honesty? Gods… __honesty__?_

"I… I haven't lied to you, Potter."

"I thought we agreed on 'Harry' and 'Severus'."

_Harry. And Severus. _He nodded. "All right."

"Say it."

"Say what?"

"Say my name, damn it!"

"There's no need –"

"_Say my goddamn name!_" The boy's eyes flashed, and then filled with tears.

Snape was stunned into silence. "_Harry_," he rasped after a moment, and felt his throat constrict for some reason. "Harry." Tears filled his eyes, and he fought not to let them overflow.

They stared at each other a moment, then Potter – _Harry _ – flung himself out of the sofa and against Snape's chest, sobbing. Snape's arms convulsed around him. "_Harry,_" he whispered, "I'm sorry… Harry." He fought an urge to kiss the top of the boy's head, shaking with the effort. The boy – the man – clung to him and he held onto him, because he couldn't stop shaking.

_Oh, gods… what am I doing to you? I can't do this_, he thought. The boy stiffened in his arms, and he realized he had spoken aloud… or the man had read him – it hardly mattered which. He moved his hands to Potter's – _Harry's _– shoulders and pushed him slightly away, holding him so he could look into his eyes.

"I can't do this, Potter." The man's eyes filled with hurt, and Snape felt… ashamed. "I'm sorry – _Harry. _I… _Merlin_ – don't look at me like that! I can't… I shouldn't have…"

He dropped his hands from Potter's shoulders and got to his feet, so aware of the man in front of him that it scared him… seared his soul. "I… I need to meditate. I'll see you at breakfast," he said. He put a hand on the boy's head… and then had to tear himself away from that.

He turned and went to his room, leaving Potter on the floor at the side of the chair he'd been sitting in. The boy's sob tore at his heart, his soul, his very being, and he clutched the door frame with both hands to keep himself from turning back.

_What are you doing? Dear gods in heaven, what are you doing to him? Why did you bring him here? What in bloody hell are you doing? You bastard! Leave the boy alone – why can't you leave him alone?_

But… alone, he'd looked like the Potter of ten days ago – gaunt, ill-kempt, almost ill… uncared for… lost._ He couldn't very well have let the boy go, could he? __Should__ he have? To what? Wander off in some drunken haze, unable to defend himself?_

_No__! Gods! I didn't protect him for that._

_How far are you willing to go, Severus, to protect him, to make him happy?_

_Whatever it takes._

_Whatever__?_

_Gods help me… __whatever__._


	21. Chapter 21

**The Usual Disclaimer -** you already know it. In compensation for the previous uber long chapter I give you an uber short one.

* * *

He did not sleep. For a while, all he did was sit and shiver, his back against the headboard of his bed, his knees drawn up under the covers, propping up his elbows, his head in his hands. _What am I doing? Gods, what am I doing?_

He tried to lie down, but could not get himself to stay still. He got up and paced, then, worried that would wake the boy, climbed back under the covers to sit and shiver some more, need and desire _for _Potter and need and desire to _protect _Potter battling it out feverishly inside him. He was trapped at the top of a high cliff, his back to the edge, forced ever closer to doom, one way or another. _What am I supposed to do with this? _He shook his head. _What am I supposed to do?_

His door opened softly. Potter whispered, "_Lumos_." He startled when he saw Snape sitting up in bed, watching him.

"I… I need to use the…" he said, gesturing with his wand hand. Snape nodded without a word, his eyes following the man to the bathroom. The man did his business, then spent what seemed like interminable minutes with the water running in the washbasin. _How long does it take to wash ones hands? _When he was done, he opened the door to the bathroom and whispered, "_Nox_." He did not move.

_What are you doing, Potter? _Snape shut his eyes on it. _Go… Oh, Merlin… Stay… _"Is there something you need?" he asked quietly. His voice did not tremble. He was grateful.

He felt, rather than heard, Potter approach his bed… and then the weight of him slipping onto the bed beside him, where he sat frozen against the headboard. _What am I supposed to do? Oh, gods, he wanted him there, but… Oh, Merlin… Stay. _His heart beat a terrified rhythm and he shivered.

Potter – _Harry_ – sat beside him for several breaths, his knees also drawn up, his t-shirt brushing lightly against Snape's arm. Then he leaned against Snape's shoulder, tentatively, as if waiting for Snape to shove him off. After a moment, he slipped his hand under the covers, searching. He found Snape's hand and twined his fingers through Snape's. Snape felt himself tremble, and the man squeezed his hand in what felt like reassurance. After a moment, he folded his fingers tightly around Potter's. With his other arm, he flipped the blanket up around the boy, to keep him warm. Potter settled against him with a sigh.

_Tell him to get out._

_No._

_Tell him to get out. What are you doing? You can't do this. Don't encourage him. Tell him to get out._

_Oh, gods… I don't __want__ him to get out…_


	22. Chapter 22

**The Usual Disclaimer: **You already know it. All gratitude to Jo Rowling. My plot. Reviews gratefully accepted.

* * *

_Sunday, October 27, 2005_

When he woke, they were lying down, Potter's head on his shoulder, one arm thrown across Snape's chest. Snape's arms were wrapped around the man. He did not remember deciding to do that. It felt… wonderful… right. _Oh, gods… _He lay frozen, not wanting to move, not wanting to break the charm that had him… right where he wanted to breathing must have changed. The man's head moved under his chin, and he wondered if he was awake. Then he felt the boy's erection against his leg and knew he was. He stopped breathing.

_What am I supposed to do with this? _he thought. _Literally – what am I supposed to do with this? _He felt himself start to respond. He was frightened – for more than one reason… one of which was that he felt… ignorant… clumsy, inexperienced.

_Well… you are… all of those things_.

_Gods…_ _What am I supposed to do with this… if I were to do anything? Merlin… what the hell am I supposed to do?_

He stirred and went to slip his arm out from under the man to sit up. Potter stirred too, and allowed him to pull away. Snape's heart was thudding in his chest. He wondered if the man felt it or heard it as he moved away.

"Morning," the boy said sleepily.

"Good morning…" _Gods._

"Sorry for invading your bed."

"No matter. Whatever you…"

The man looked at him, his green eyes soft and vague without his glasses. _Damn it! Not fair, Potter! _Snape's breath caught in his chest and he froze, his eyes searching Potter's face.

"That's not guilt, then?" the man said.

He shook his head. "No." He was shaking.

"Are you cold?"

_Cold? _ "No." He almost laughed._ No. He was not cold. He was burning, in fact. _"I… I need to use the loo," he said and flipped off the covers, swinging his feet over the edge of the bed, turning his back to the man.

"Do you want me to leave?" Potter asked softly.

He sat still. "Leave?"

"Your room… your quarters… Hogwarts…" the boy said quietly.

He closed his eyes. _Gods… do the right thing, Sev. _"Whatever you need, Potter."

The boy laughed. "I just spent the night drooling on your chest, Severus… don't you think you could call me _Harry_?"

He did not miss the plea in the boy's voice.

"Of course. I'm sorry. _Harry,_" he said, without looking at him. He got to his feet and grabbed at his bathrobe, held it a moment before flinging it over his shoulders. "I… I need to use the loo… take a bath…"

"… Sure," Harrysaid softly.

He tried not to think about the boy's tone of voice when he said that. _Gods! Coward! _When he came out, the man was not in his room – _thank Merlin! _He did not relish the thought of dressing in front of the man – orfleeing to the bathroom to avoid it. He dressed and left his room. Potter's door was open. He was packing his belongings into a duffle bag.

"What are you doing?" he asked, confused… and frightened, maybe… and something else he could not name just then.

"I should leave."

"Why? Where are you going?" His heart was pounding painfully. _Oh, gods, Potter – don't._

"I don't know…"

"Because if it's about last night… or this morning… there's no need." _Gods, please… Don't, Potter._

"Don't you have a problem with a gay wizard invading your bed in the middle of the night?"

"I told you that doesn't bother me, Potter."

"_Harry,_" the boy said, continuing to pack. The tone in his voice made Snape's heart twist. "And… why not? It _should_ bother you," he said quietly, after a moment.

Snape hesitated, then walked over to the man's side. He blocked Potter's hand when he went to stuff a balled-up shirt into the bag, took the shirt from him, and folded it neatly, creasing the folds, and then, quite deliberately, placed it at the foot of the bed. He took another balled-up shirt from the duffle and folded it. Potter stood close enough that he could hear his breathing… imagined he could hear the man's heart beating in his chest. He picked up a third shirt and flicked his eyes to Potter's, and turned to look at him.

_What __do__ you need from me?_

_Honesty._

"It depends on the wizard_,_ I guess," he said shakily. "Ten percent, Po – _Harry_. I told you. Ten percent." He held the boy's eyes and took a deep breath. "And it was never Lily... Not for the last fourteen years." His heart thumped in his chest. He was shaking. _Oh, gods…_

Potter looked at him a long minute, then sagged in relief, nodding. Snape could practically hear his thought: _Thank Merlin. _He thoughthe saw tears in the man's eyes. They looked at each other, searching each other's face.

_What do I do now? What do I do next? _Snape thought._ Gods… I don't know what I'm doing. _Finally, he shook his head. "Go take a bath," he said. "And then… let's go to breakfast."

The boy nodded and turned obediently to leave the room. He paused and put a hand on Snape's back. Snape turned toward him.

"Thank you," the man said.

"Whatever you need… Harry. Anything you need," he said. _Just… don't leave_, he thought shakily. Potter hesitated, nodded, and left the room, picking up underwear and socks from a pile at the foot of his bed as he did so.

Snape continued unpacking Potter's things, fighting the urge to banish the bloody duffle bag to oblivion, trying to keep from thinking. _Hopeless. _He kept finding himself standing with some item of the man's clothing in his hands, stilled in contemplation. He'd never told anyone his feelings about the boy, not even Dumbledore, though it would have been apparent in the things he had dumped into the older wizard's Pensieve. He'd barely told _himself_, he realized, stifling it because, after all, any way he'd looked at it, it had been hopeless. Lily or Harry – it hardly mattered. And there'd never been anyone else… So he'd hidden it from himself.

_What __do__ you need from me?_

_Honesty._

He finished unpacking the duffle and went to his desk, trying to lose himself in grading third year parchments – a mere seven inches on Polyjuice. His hand shook as he wrote comments. He stopped. He'd have to come back to it later.

The bath drained. Several minutes later, Pott – _Harry_ – came out of his room, toweling his hair dry. He had on one of Snape's shirts again – the green one that matched his eyes. Snape practically groaned. _Oh Merlin!_ _Come on, Potter – not fair!_

"That's my shirt," he observed, past the dryness of his mouth. "_And _my sweater," he noted, nodding at the sweater dangling from the boy's arm.

Potter's eyes twinkled. "Well, I didn't want to mess up what you were doing, since you were folding my things so nicely."

Snape snorted and shook his head.

"Do you mind?"

Snape canted his head at the boy. "I told you I don't mind," he said. "Anything you need."

"I told you you'd better watch that… you never know what I'll ask for," the man – _Harry – _said, meeting his eyes steadily.

"Indeed," Snape said with a twitch of his lips. _Stop it, Sev. _"Breakfast?" He gestured the man out the door ahead of him, inhaling the scent of him as he passed, then laughed shakily at himself and shook his head again. _Merlin, Hecate, and Circe, I'm in trouble here. Gods, I wish there was a book on this. I'll bet Hermione Gran-… Hermione has a book on this._

The boy had the decency to sit further down the table from him, between Neville and Hagrid. _Thank all the gods!_ That allowed him to settle himself, and focus on his conversation with McGonagall and Flitwick, though Minerva kept looking at him and then at Potter in a considering way that he found disconcerting. _Merlin, was the woman taking up Legilimency?_ He turned to Filius, away from the Headmistress.

After breakfast, he asked, "What are your plans for the day, then – if you're not going to run away from home?"

"Home?" Harry said, smiling at him slowly.

Snape just looked at him. "_Home_," he said firmly, after a moment. _Please, Potter._

"I thought it would be a good idea to go visit Neville in the greenhouses," he said, glancing back at the man in conversation with Minerva.

As he had absolutely no idea what to do next… what to do now… Snape breathed a silent sigh of relief at that.

"What are you up to?"

Snape spread his hands. "Potions – what else? Poppy needs blood replenishing potion. Dueling lessons start next week."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Save us," he said.

"Indeed," Snape replied dryly. "And I need to finish grading some parchments."

"Glad I'm done with that."

_So am I._

_Oh, Merlin!_

"I… I should probably be busy until tea…"

"I'll see you by tea time, then," Harry said, turning to wave at Neville, who was apparently waiting for him.

"Tea time," Snape said with a nod, and turned to head to his lab, somewhat shaky, but feeling… lighter. _Home. _A smile lit his face, causing several students to look at him in startlement, then turn to stare after him when he nodded at them pleasantly. He grinned at their reactions, finding the feel of it… odd. _How long had it been since he'd smiled… or had reason to? Not a grimace. A smile. _He didn't know. _Lily_, he thought. _Yes. Probably back that far…when he was fifteen, maybe… nearly thirty years ago. Good Lord, was it that long? No wonder his face felt stiff, those muscles unfamiliar. And what other muscles were unused? _he wondered, then laughed that away with difficulty. _Oh, gods!_

He distracted himself with potions, the work soothing and absorbing him as usual. Minerva knocked at noon, and ordered him to lunch, nodding when he said Potter was lunching with Longbottom. She eyed him steadily. "You're looking… settled," she said as they made their way to the Great Hall.

He did not say anything, merely looked down, hoping his face did not give him away.

"How did the boy's visit with his friends go?"

"Well. It went well, as far as I can tell… from what he's told me."

"Good," she said with a sniff. "Have you and the boy talked?"

"A…about what, Headmistress?"

"Severus…"

"I… no. No, there hasn't been time."

"Well, see that you address the matter, Severus. Can't have the two of you moping around the castle. It depresses the students."

He frowned at her and she patted his hand. "It's good to see you looking so well, Sev."

"… Thank you, Minerva."

She laughed and patted his hand again.


	23. Chapter 23

**The Usual Disclaimer:** Jo's world and characters; my plot. Her money; my reviews.

* * *

He graded parchments until tea time. Harry came in shortly before, took in Snape's concentration – or what he hoped passed for concentration – at the table, and went to his room, coming out with a book, a quill and some parchment, which he took to his spot across from Snape. They read in silence for some time, each of them scratching out notes, Potter on parchment, Snape in the margins of students' work. After a while, Potter's scratching ceased. Snape looked up to find the boy watching him, an odd look on his face.

"What is it?" he asked.

The boy… the man… was studying him, his eyes tracing the contours of Snape's face. Snape could practically feel it, it was so nearly tangible. It confused him… did things to him…

"Well – what is it?" he said irritably, then shook his head and said, more mildly, "Sorry. What is it?"

The corner of Potter's mouth quirked upward. "Nothing," he said softly.

Snape eyed him a moment, then turned his eyes back to the parchment he was deciphering, trying not to be so… aware. He tried not to notice when Potter got up, feigning that he was absorbed in his grading. The man padded in his stockinged feet out from behind the table, passed behind Snape and went to the kitchen. It made Snape's shoulders prickle.

_Focus, Severus._

_Right._

"Tea?" the man called a moment later.

"Yes, thank you," Snape said quietly.

"Where's your honey?"

"Top shelf in the larder – on the left."

"I see it."

He heard the sounds of Potter grunting as he reached for the honey, and snickered to himself. It would be out of his reach. He listened to the man preparing tea – by hand, rather than using magic. It was odd… he'd never heard anyone else's sounds here, other than McGonagall when she came to visit, or Arthur, from time to time. No one in the background, certainly, as he always served the tea. Somehow, Potter tooling around in his kitchen did not bother him. Not that it should have. _Right?_

He realized his mind was wandering and forced his attention back to his parchment, picking up his quill to make a note in the margin. Potter came out of the kitchen bearing a single cup, which he set down, one hand on Snape's shoulder as he leaned to place it in front of him. He went back to the kitchen and came out with his own, and passed behind Snape to get to his spot behind the table, trailing his fingers along Snape's shoulders as he passed.

_To steady himself. Right?_

His fingers brushed the back of Snape's neck. It was a strange sensation that Snape did not know what to do with. While he didn't quite freeze, he held his breath a moment and tried to keep from shivering. Harry took up his spot across from him and Snape found himself looking into those green eyes, surrounded more by a man's face than that of a boy. He realized he was staring, the man gazing back at him, some unfathomable look in his eyes. He inhaled and looked down at his tea. The quill in his hand betrayed his shaking. He set it down and picked up a spoon to stir honey into his cup. The ringing it made against the china seemed overloud.

"So…" He was appalled to find his voice cracking. "What are your plans this evening?"

Harry cocked his head at him. "Thought I'd take a walk… up to Hogsmeade."

Snape narrowed his eyes at him. "You shouldn't go out alone."

"You'll have to come with me then," the man said, his eyes glittering.

Why did his heart speed up at that? Why did his mind suddenly picture the two of them, walking in the dark, up the road to Hogsmeade? He inhaled and forced himself to take a sip of the tea, then put the cup back down on the saucer, feeling clumsy. _ It was his wrists. That's all. Normal._

_Liar._

"I'll be in my room," he said after a moment.

"Something wrong with the tea?" Potter asked in a low voice.

"No." He paused a long moment. "It's time for my afternoon meditation."

"I don't recall you meditating every afternoon."

He didn't respond to that, but rose abruptly and pushed back his chair. He looked down at the table, then away, avoiding looking at the man. He hesitated a moment, then turned and walked to his room, feeling exquisitely self-conscious. He closed the door behind him and sagged against it. He could practically feel Potter's gaze follow him to the door, felt it on the door on the other side, could picture the man sitting there watching… had to fight the urge to ward his room from within.

_Against what?_

He was trembling. He went to his bathroom and ran the water in the washbasin as if the noise could shield his thoughts from the man the other side of the door… the other side of the wall. He stood leaning on the sink, shaking, trying to figure out why he felt so vulnerable, so naked. After a while, he splashed water on his face, dried it with a towel in unsteady hands, and went to sit on his bed, trying not to think. Images of Potter kept intruding. He gave it up and lay on his back, staring at the ceiling, trying to _think_ the tension out of his body. _Hopeless. _Eventually, he fell asleep.

c

Something woke him. It was dark out. His innate time sense suggested it was going on eight. He wondered if Potter had gone out without him, then heard footsteps outside his room – Potter, shod now. He got up and changed into an unwrinkled shirt, over which he put on his red Gryffindor sweater, a gift from McGonagall after she'd assigned him to Gryffindor House when he'd recovered from his wounds, years ago. It was his favorite sweater, but that was not completely why he chose it tonight. He needed to invoke that bit of Gryffindor he supposedly had in him… shield himself with it.

_Courage, Sev_, he thought with a twist of his lips. _For what?_

He folded a soft wool cloak over his arm and checked himself in the mirror. Despite his thinness and the slight tinge of grey at his temples in his somewhat shorter hair, he looked younger, he thought, than the days just before and during the war. He supposed that made sense. He ran a hand through his hair to straighten it and left his room.

Potter looked up from the sofa when he came out, a flash of a smile making his face much more familiar. It almost took Snape's breath, it reminded him of the _boy _Potter so much. It was more compelling, somehow, on the older man's face.

"Nice sweater… Severus," the boy – the man – said softly. His eyes glittered at Snape, and Snape's heart sped up again.

_Stop that. _He didn't know if he meant the boy or himself.

The man was dressed in the corduroys they had purchased earlier, a dark green sweater – pulled over one of Snape's shirts again, this time a white high-necked one. Snape's shoulders twitched at that for some reason, and he recalled the man's hand trailing along his shoulders earlier, before his… nap. He wondered if the boy had come into his room while he was sleeping, to fetch the shirt. His body reacted to that idea, and he shied away from the images it evoked.

He gestured wordlessly toward the door. Potter's eyes glinted at him and he got up from the sofa, passing in front of Snape so closely he could practically feel the heat of his passing. His own skin was on fire, he felt. He tried to shake it off.

_Merlin, stop that!_

He shook his head and followed.

He went to open the door, but Potter put out his hand at the same time, and Snape's hand covered his on the handle. He snatched his back, his eyes flashing to Potter's deep green ones and away. He inhaled sharply, swallowed and waited for the younger man to precede him out the door.

They left Gryffindor Tower and headed down the one flight to the front doors, Potter's movements half-familiar, some echo of the Quidditch athlete as he half-walked, half-glided down the stairs, looser, more relaxed in his movements than he had been before. Snape followed at a more dignified pace, no less fluid. Potter reached the bottom before him, and turned, one hand in his pocket, one holding his cloak slung over his shoulder, to watch Snape descend. Snape's heart thudded in his chest. He resisted the urge to shake his head. He tried not to think of… anything.

They turned to walk out of the school, throwing their cloaks over their shoulders. Snape nodded greeting to the stray Gryffindors returning to their dorm after a late dinner, and to Sir Cadogan, guarding the front door from a portrait near the entrance.

"Don't let Filch lock us out, Cadogan, will you?"

Sir Cadogan snapped a salute, then caught at a stirrup on his pony to catch his balance. Potter laughed a low, soft chuckle that Snape felt vibrate through his bones. _Gods. He felt like some damned violin string, with Potter the one plucking it. _He groaned internally. _Not. Fair. Potter._

They paced each other down the wide stone steps out of the castle, Snape not wanting the younger man to show him up – not that he was old at a mere forty-five, but still… _What did it matter? _He tried not to think about it. They walked up the path to the front gates, and Potter stood silent, watching him, as he sang the spell to let them through the wards, waved a hand to open the gate, and reset the wards from the other side.

Once outside the gate, Snape looked around – checking the path, checking for danger, out of habit. The area was completely deserted but for them. The gravel path glowed silver in the moonlight, and the trees stood bathed in it, otherwise dark against the navy velvet of the night sky. The stars shone brilliantly. Venus was out, companioning the moon. His mind sought Polaris… Cassiopeia… Orion. He felt more… oriented… grounded… centered… once he found them.

"Come on," he said.

Potter stepped beside him, hands in his pockets, matching his step to Snape's. He walked close enough to Snape on the broad path to brush Snape's shoulder… his thigh. Snape's skin burned where the man touched him. He did not alter his pace or the distance between them, staying deliberately in the middle of the path, unwilling, for some reason, to yield, as if to do so would be to acknowledge what it did to him.

_Damn it, Potter…_

His heart beat so loudly he thought the man might hear it in the stillness. An owl hooted off to his right, and he looked in that direction, only to find Potter studying him. He was arrested by the glitter of the man's eyes in the moonlight, then looked away, back up the path. They did not talk, but Potter kept bumping into him. He thought it might be deliberate.

A third of the way to town, the road passed through a copse of trees growing so close together they cast a shadow over the path, shading it from the moon, from the view from either the school or the town. He lost his balance over an uneven spot in the path, and the boy caught at his elbow to steady him, then did not let go. He did not protest… but he did not know what to do with it either. _What are you doing, Potter? What am I doing?_

They arrived at the town without having exchanged a word since they left… their quarters. Snape kept trying to think of a way to break the silence… _or this will be a very awkward supper, _he thought. "Three Broomsticks or the Hog's Head?" he asked. His voice sounded… tight. He tried to breathe more naturally.

Potter looked up the road at the first of the two. "Three Broomsticks looks crowded."

"It usually is on a Sunday… full of townspeople and faculty." _What are you doing, Sev?_

"I'm in the mood for quiet."

_Damn. All right… be honest… that's what you… are in the mood for, too. _"All right. The Hog's Head, then."

The boy nodded. "Getting cold out."

"Yes." _Weather. Scintillating conversation, Sev. _"How did your visit with Neville go?"

"It was fine. I told him I'd be staying a while… offered to help him in the gardens."

Snape just nodded, his throat too tight to say anything just then. _Staying for a while… How long, exactly, was 'a while'?_

"How did your potions go?"

"Fine. They went fine."

_Gods… he felt like some bumbling teenager on his first date. _The thought froze him and he stopped breathing a moment. He glanced sideways at the man. _Gods save me! _He wiped at his forehead with a shaking hand. _Thank Merlin it was dark. _His stomach clenched tightly.

They arrived at the Hog's Head and settled themselves at the same table they had occupied… had it really been less than two weeks ago? Aberforth nodded from behind the bar. "Firewhiskey?" he asked.

"I told you, I don't have a drinking problem."

"I know. I'm sorry. I should have trusted you."

"Yes. You should," the man said, staring at him intently.

_Merlin, was everything under the sun going to be a double entendre? _Snape wondered. His insides were doing something strange, under Potter's gaze.

"Firewhiskey, then?"

"No – I think I want to stay sober."

_Good idea, Sev._

_Damn._

"Tea? Pumpkin juice? Butterbeer? Wine?"

"Butterbeer would be okay."

He nodded and raised a hand to get Aberforth's attention. He held up two fingers and mouthed _butterbeer. _The barkeep nodded and pulled two bottles out from under the bar, added a third to the tray, along with bread and goat cheese, and headed over. He took up a seat next to the boy.

"How're my two favorite new customers?" he asked.

"We're hardly new, Aberforth," Snape said.

The barkeep snorted. "Haven't seen you in months and all of a sudden you turn up here three times in a week. Feels new to me."

Snape nodded. _What could he say to that, after all?_

They ordered their meal and Aberforth waved it over with a graceful motion of his wand, then sat and talked with them about Ministry doings and the latest gossip from Rita Skeeter's poison pen, slightly miffed at their laconic replies. He finally sat silent, watching the two of them, and apparently drew some conclusion, because he _humphed_ and left them alone.

They ate slowly, almost deliberately. Snape kept his eyes on his plate, occasionally flicking them to the man across from him, who always seemed to be staring at him. He tried not to think about… chewing… and things. Finally he stopped and clasped his hands over his plate, elbows to either side, thumbs planted below his chin. His hands were cold.

"So… you've decided to stay a while, then," he said when he realized he was memorizing the man again.

"You said I shouldn't run away from home."

Snape felt his lips curl into a smile and he gave a low laugh. "I'd appreciate it if you didn't disappear on me again."

"Did you miss me?" the man said, half-teasing, half-serious.

Snape held still a moment, studying the man across the table from him. _Did I miss you? _He still ached with it, half angry, more than half bereft. He hadn't _counted_ in days, he realized… didn't even know what the count would be, now. He pushed it aside… _Irrelevant… but… _The mere thought of the boy being gone made him feel empty, as if his heart had left his body. He shut his eyes, forcing it down, then opened them to find the man watching him, naked need on his face. He sighed.

_Be honest, Sev._

"Yes," he said shakily. "I missed you."

They held each other's eyes a long moment, then the younger man's face softened into the bare whisper of a smile, and he nodded, just slightly. He let out a breath and closed his eyes. When he opened them he attacked the rest of his meal, then pushed it away.

"I'm done. Do you need anything else?"

"That's my line, Potter." _Anything._

"I told you – you'd better watch that. And… Harry. It's _Harry_."

Snape smiled wryly at him and nodded. "Harry. I'm trying."

Harry nodded. "Good."

They got up to leave. When Snape stopped to pay Aberforth for their meal, he waved it off. "This one's on me," the barkeep said.

"Why?"

"Let's just say I have my reasons," Aberforth said, and his eyes flicked to Harry, standing a little behind Snape, and then back to Snape. Snape frowned and shook his head, confused, but Aberforth again refused his galleons, and he reluctantly, bemusedly pocketed them.


	24. Chapter 24

**The Usual Disclaimer:** Jo's world and people; my plot. Her money; my reviews.

He set a slow pace as they retraced their steps through town, hesitant, for some reason, to hurry on the dark path back to the gates of the school. Ahead of them, Hagrid's large bulk was barely evident against the sky, silhouetted in the light from the Three Broomsticks. He pointed it out to the man beside him. "We could call to him," he said.

"We could," Harry said, but they did not.

The moon had moved off past the horizon. It was pitch dark other than the faint light of the stars. _We should light our wands, _Snape thought, but he put his hands in his pockets as they left the town, balling them into fists to keep himself from shaking. _Merlin, where was his self-control?_

Once they left the town, the man slipped one arm through his as they stepped along the gravel path toward the school. "Can't have you losing your balance," he said teasingly.

"You either."

"I'm stone sober."

"I know."

They walked a bit in silence. "How's your shoulder?" Snape asked, finally.

The boy rotated his shoulder, brushing against him. "Better thanks… That potion is working… the massage, too, I think. It's less stiff."

Snape nodded, but said nothing.

"How're your wounds?" the man asked.

"Sore. My wrists get stiff. I'm supposed to be rubbing that potion in twice a day."

"Do you?"

"Usually… unless I forget."

"I could do it for you."

_What would that be like?_ Snape thought. He settled for nodding his head.

"Your scar hurt anymore? The one on your forehead, I mean?"

"No… It means he's gone, then, doesn't it?"

"Yes, I think he's actually gone, this time."

"There's still danger, though, isn't there?"

"Yes."

After a moment, the boy said, "You'll have to keep protecting me, then."

Snape closed his eyes, trusting Potter's guidance to keep him from walking off the path. His heart pounded, but not in fear, just… in need… to keep the man safe… always.

"I will," he said softly.

"Good," Harry said, and his hand slid down Snape's arm, tracking lightly over the sleeve covering his wounds, to hold onto Snape's hand in his pocket, his fingers coaxing Snape's fist open, then twining with those of his protector. Snape fought the urge to pull the man to him and wrap him in his cloak, in his arms… to shield him from… anything… everything… He just kept walking, feeling Harry's thumb gently trace it's way over the scars on the back of his hand, and around to his wrist, over and over.

It felt… fine. Strange, but fine. Maybe it was the darkness. He didn't even think, really… just… walked, his step shortened to match the younger man's, walking in step so they moved in rhythm with each other. It felt… natural, and easy, and he did not need to think about it, not even when they passed through the copse of trees and the man held tightly to his hand and he pressed the boy's arm to his side, his wand pressing between them.

He needed his wand, though, to unward the gates, and pulled his hand reluctantly from his pocket, letting go of Harry's hand to pull the wand from its sheath at his wrist, padded in deference to his wounds. He sang the gate open and they stepped through. He sang the ward closed, and turned to see Potter's face, faintly visible in the light from Hagrid's cabin and the distant windows of the school.

"Let's clean that wound one more time," he said when the man said nothing.

"I'll put that cream on your arms for you, if you like," Harry said.

He nodded. "Thank you. That would be a help." _Well, it would,_ he thought. He gestured toward the school. "That way," he said, unnecessarily. Harry took his arm again and slid his hand down to Snape's, and he allowed it, wondering, briefly, if anyone would see the two men climbing the hill toward the castle, hand in hand, and figure out who they were. He found he did not care – not enough to do anything about it.

When they entered through the great doors at the entrance, Cadogan startled awake, saluted them, and bid them good night. Snape thanked him for keeping Filch off the locks. The halls were dark. It was nearly midnight. He lit his wand with a murmured, "_Lumos minima_," though he barely needed it. The moonless sky provided little illumination through the high windows, though, and there was no sense taking the risk of tripping over Mrs. Norris in the darkness. The portraits were not disturbed, and they passed through the halls in peace.

He murmured the password at his door, uttered "_Nox_," and stood aside to let Potter brush past him. His chest tightened and he felt himself respond to the man's closeness. He closed his eyes. _Merlin, help me,_ he thought. He stopped inside the door, one hand on the back of the chair at the end of the table.

_Harry…_

He just watched the man standing halfway between the door and his room… halfway between the two rooms…

"Go get ready for bed and I'll do that shoulder of yours," he said. _Gods. Double entendre again… _The man nodded without turning around and headed to the library. Snape took off his robe and hung it in the wardrobe in his room, then came out to sit at the table, waving a hand to _Accio _fresh vials of anti-inflammatory and anti-infection potions from the lab. He neither lit his wand nor waved the fire higher, but just sat waiting for Harry, turning the anti-infection potion around and around in his hands… _not thinking._

_What am I doing?_

_Tending the boy's wound._

_Be honest, Sev._

_… Tending his wound._

Potter came out of his room tugging on the drawstring of his sleep pants, letting the ends dangle without tying them. They slipped a little on his hips. Snape looked… elsewhere. Or tried hard to do so, anyway. The man's shirt was under his arm, his chest and back bare, though in the dimness, even that was hard to tell.

"Sit," Snape said, and stood to move behind the boy's chair, to get a better angle for tending the wound. He let the anti-infection potion trace its way down the indentation of the scar on the Potter's chest and back and felt the man shiver.

"Cold?" he asked.

"No," the boy lied.

Snape ran the bit of cotton over the boy's wound, front and back, and repeated the cleansing twice more. "This will help," he said, though he realized his fingers were cold as he rubbed the anti-inflammatory well into and around the scar, feeling his way down the man's chest, up and over his shoulder, and down his back, letting his fingers substitute for eyes as he found his way. He watched the back of Potter's head, and the reflection of the low fire on the man's face, to the extent he could see it in the darkness. Friction and thought warmed his hands. The man's muscles finally relaxed and his shivering stopped. When he was done, he left his hand on Harry's shoulder a moment.

"Best put that shirt on – you'll get cold again."

Potter pulled the shirt over his head without turning, without shifting at all, automatically, almost in a trance. "Your turn," he said. "Let me do your wrists and arms."

Snape nodded, though as he was standing behind the boy, that was pointless. He moved next to the chair facing Potter's, facing away from the fire, toward the man, and pulled his red Gryffindor sweater over his head, then ran a hand through his hair to straightened it. Harry's eyes glinted in the faint light from the fire. Snape sat and rolled up his sleeves, exposing his thin, muscled, damaged arms.

The man uttered a warming spell and blew on his hands, then poured a bit of cream into his palm, and with exceedingly gentle fingers, began rubbing the potion into the scars on Snape's wand arm, working his way well up to his bicep, then down to the tips of his fingers, which he massaged one at a time. He turned Snape's hand over and poured a drop of potion onto the palm, and rubbed that in, murmuring, "Sorry," when Snape winced and his palm twitched.

"It's nothing. It's okay," Snape said quietly, his eyes on the man's face rather than his hand, barely registering what the man's touch was doing to him, just… breathing… trying to remember to breathe, anyway. He knew Potter could not see his face, silhouetted as he was against the only source of light in the room, so felt free to study him in the dimness, the man's face focused, softened in the firelight, like his touch on Snape's skin.

Potter – _Harry – _repeated the treatment on Snape's left arm, lingering over the spot where the Dark Mark had been torn from his skin, treating it gently. Snape closed his eyes and just… felt it… the man'stouch a benediction… an absolution. _Potter…? _When he was done, Potter kept a hand on Snape's wrist, and reached for his other hand.

Snape sat still, thinking _What are you doing, Potter? _But the man just held there, his touch warm and gentle. After a while, he let go, and looked up into Snape's eyes, and Snape was puzzled to see the shine of tears. "What?" he said.

"I'm sorry," Potter said, barely audible in the stillness. "If I'd gotten there sooner…"

Snape pulled one hand from the man's grasp and laid it on his head. "It's not your fault, Potter."

"It's _Harry_."

"… I know… Sorry." He wanted to do or say something… but he didn't know what. "Do you want some tea?" he asked, for lack of anything else. His voice cracked.

The man laughed softly. "No. No more tea, thank you. I'll burst."

Snape nodded. He swallowed against something like… need… desire… fear. "Better use the loo, then."

Harry held his gaze a moment before he nodded. He stood and touched a hand to Snape's shoulder, keeping his eyes on Snape's. Snape sat frozen, his heart pounding, watching the man walk into his room. _To the bathroom,_ he told himself, but his mind kept going to the morning, to waking to find his arms around the man, the man pressed up against him…

He shook it off – or tried to – and picked up his sweater. Harry finished in the bathroom while he was folding the sweater into his dresser in his room. Snape turned, and his eyes flashed to the man's face, barely visible in the faint light of the fire from the other room, then away. Neither of them pulled out their wand to utter a _Lumos._

"My turn," he murmured, and walked toward the bathroom. Potter did not move. "Excuse me." The man half turned to let him brush past.

He finished and washed his hands, letting the warm water soothe the scars on his wrists, delaying leaving the bathroom for some reason he did not want to recognize, but did nonetheless. He turned off the water and listened. Nothing. He dried his hands, clenching his jaw against his shaking.

He was half afraid the man would still be in his room when he came out. And half hoping. _More than half, to be honest, Merlin help him._

He opened the door. The room was still dark, and he felt, more than saw, Potter standing where he'd left him… He'd have to walk past him to…

_To what? To get into bed? He couldn't very well do that with his clothes on. To disrobe? Merlin help him. To… to do what?_

_I've never done this before, _he realized. _Gods, the __boy__ has more experience than I do! _He would have laughed at himself if he hadn't been so frightened.

He hesitated, then brushed past the boy without a word.

"Professor," Potter said.

"Severus," he corrected, without turning around.

"Severus…" the man said, chuckling in a low tone.

_Oh, gods. _It ran through Snape as if the pitch of the man's laugh was tuned to his bones. "What is it… Harry?" he murmured, his mouth dry. He came to a halt and turned back to the man.

Harry… just looked at him for a moment in the darkened room. Then he walked slowly toward Snape. Snape's blood burned traces through his veins. He held his breath. His heart was pounding. He _was_ frightened.

_Of what?_

The younger man stopped only when he was toe to toe with him, his eyes glinting almost dangerously, though it was nearly too dark in the room to see. He looked up at him a moment, lowered his eyes to Snape's chest… then closed them. Snape could almost see the dark lashes against the younger man's cheeks – or was that his imagination? Potter… _Harry_…leaned toward him slowly. Snape stood his ground, fighting the urge to flee.

_Harry…_

The boylaid his head against Snape's chest, just over his heart. Snape closed his eyes. He didn't know what to do, so he did nothing, just stood there, his heart thumping.

"Severus," Harry whispered. Then his hands came up to Snape's waist and held there, just above his beltline.

Snape could feel the man's hands, cold, but burning where they halted over his shirt. _He's frightened, too, _he thought_. _His need to protect the boy – the man – overwhelmed him again, and he raised his hands to the man's shoulders, and just… held them there. He inhaled sharply, and breathed in the scent of the man's hair – his own shampoo… his own lavender-scented bath soap. His heart pounded, and he wondered if the man could hear it, feel it. He exhaled against Harry's hair and the man tightened his grip, trembling… or was it Snape who trembled?

Harry pulled his head back and looked into his eyes… and Snape stopped breathing. "Severus… I need…" The man halted, as if he didn't quite dare.

"What do you need… Harry?" he breathed.

"You said 'Anything'…"

Snape's heart thudded and his stomach clenched. He was shaking, he realized. He inhaled and swallowed, and looked down into the man's eyes, searching his face, wanting to search it with his fingers, in the dark.

_What __do__ you need from me?_

_Honesty._

"Yes," he breathed.

And then Harry's lips were on his, kissing him, tugging at Snape's lower lip with his. And Snape found himself… kissing him back, the man's lips sweet beneath his. Harry slid his arms up around him, around his back, pressing harder into his lips. Snape moaned and lifted his hands to hold the man's face.

Harry turned his head to kiss Snape's palm, then ran his lips lightly to Snape's ear. "Severus," he breathed. He kissed him just below his ear, dragged his lips slowly across his jaw and his cheek, back to his lips. Snape inhaled sharply and shook his head, but the man caught at his lips with his own, and Snape found his fingers tangled in Harry's hair…

The man's tongue coaxed its way past his lips and Snape gasped. He stumbled backward, grabbing at Harry for support, and the boy followed until Snape's legs hit the edge of the bed, and they went down. The man shifted to press his leg between Snape's, up against him, and Snape gasped again. The younger man pressed harder against him, devouring him, it seemed, tugging at his belt, looking to loosen it.

_Whatever you need… _He felt his control give way… and he gave in… gave the boy what he needed… let him take what he wanted. _Anything._


	25. Chapter 25

**The Usual Disclaimer: **Jo's characters and setting; my plot. Her galleons; my reviews.

Thank you for reading this story, which I loved writing, and which opened up a whole new world to me. I love Snape and Harry together... I hope I have made a worthy addition to the whole of the Snarry story mythos. It has been an honor to, once again, work with such lovely gentlemen, and I thank them as well as you. Please review. Thank you.

* * *

A long time later, they lay trembling against each other, one of Snape's arms around Potter… around Harry, one hand at the man's head on his shoulder, his fingers in the boy's hair, his thumb tracing the line of his brow. Snape pulled away a little, and searched his face in the light of the stars through the window and the faint glow of the fire. He traced the line of his hair and his eyebrows with a thumb, trailed it down the angles of his face to his chin, his eyes on Potter's.

"Are you okay?" Harry asked.

Snape snorted softly and took inventory. His lips were bruised… but it felt… good. He shook his head and laughed lightly. _Was he okay?_ _Well… he would be. _"I'm a little sore."

"I'm sorry, I…"

"It's all right. I'm fine. We… we have some things to learn, I think." He was amused when a jar of… something… appeared on his nightstand. "Look," he said, and gestured with his chin.

Harry turned his head toward the nightstand, then back toward him. "Where did that come from?"

"No idea."

"I guess the castle approves then."

"So it would appear. How are you?"

"I'm okay," the man said. "We'll have to practice."

Snape shook his head and laughed quietly. "Practice?"

Harry raised his hand to trace Snape's face, then let his fingers drift lightly across the scars on Snape's neck and chest. He paused there, his hand over Snape's beating heart.

_I love you,_ Snape thought, then realized he had said it aloud, at the same moment as Potter had said it. _We're in each other's minds,_ he realized.

"I love you, Severus," Harry said again.

Snape frowned at him. _I love you, Severus… _It occurred to him that he had never heard those words… not once in his life. _I love you. _He shook his head in denial. It was as if the words belonged to someone else.

Harry raised his hand to Snape's head and held it still. He pressed his forehead against Snape's, his eyes open, Legilimency and Snape's unwillingness to invoke Occlumancy letting the boy look into him. He allowed it. "_I love you,_" Harry said slowly and clearly. He did not allow Snape to shake it off, so he held still, trying to take it in.

"I… I love you," Snape breathed. That was the truth. "I know you'll leave, Harry, but… I want you to know… I do love you." That was honest… the full truth.

Harry shook his head. "I'm not going anywhere. Home… my home… is wherever you are. I'm not going anywhere, Sev – I promise," and he drew Snape in, let Snape read him, let him see the truth of that. Snape looked him in the eyes for a long time, searching… for something. He went to trace his features again, but Harry took his hand and held it still.

"Marry me."

"What?"

"I love you, Severus. Marry me. Let me make an honest man of you." Harry's lips curled in a slight smile, but his eyes searched Snape's pleadingly.

"You don't even know me."

"Yes I do. You're a good man."

Snape snorted softly, but Potter insisted.

"You're a good man, Severus. You're honest. You're strong. You have such a gentle touch. You're brilliant, and you're poetic…" He took a breath. "You're the bravest man I've ever known. And…" he chuckled softly, "you're a good cook." He stopped and looked Snape in the eyes. "You're my protector. I only feel safe when I'm with you. I only feel at home with you. Let me stay with you. Marry me."

"Harry… I'm a teacher…"

"What difference does that make?"

"None, of course, except that… I'm _here_… what would you do?" _You'll leave me._

"I'll go back to work."

Snape made a sound of protest, and Harry put his fingers against his lips to stop what he was going to say.

"Administration. I can't do fieldwork anymore. I can't… I just can't," he said, and his voice trembled.

"It's all right," Snape said, giving him a shake and then drawing him closer. "You don't have to go back to that." _I'd do anything_, he thought. "I'll take care of you."

Harry laughed softly. "They've been after me to do administration. I'll just take them up on it," he said.

Snape's heart protested. "You'd be listening to reports all the time – of killing… or of chasing down people like McKinnon. You can't go back to that. I can't let you go back to it."

The boy shivered.

"You should ask McGonagall," Snape said.

"What?"

"You should ask her – for the Defense post. You've seen McDuffie… he's in over his head. Ask her."

"… Then I'd be home… with you… every night." Harry's eyes closed a moment and he leaned into Snape, wrapping himself around him, and Snape had such an urge to… just… stay there… the two of them wrapped around each other, where he knew the man was _safe_.

He found himself kissing the top of the dark head, repeatedly, his need to keep the man _safe _pounding through his veins in time with the beating of his heart.

"You said… _anything_…" the man reminded him. "I love you, Sev… I need you. I need to know you'll be there for me."

"I'll be here for you," he said. "I'll _always_ be here." He pulled back and looked the man in the eyes. "I can't help it… I don't _want_ to help it," he admitted. "I'll always be here."

"You'll marry me, then," Harry said, as if he knew, but his voice and his eyes said, _Please_.

_Oh, gods… not fair, Potter. But… I'd do anything… Anything…_

Snape gave a low laugh, shook his head, kissed the man's forehead, and wrapped his arms around him. _Harry… _"This is number one," he said, bemusedly.

"What?"

He drew back to look the man in the eyes. "This is the first day."

"Of what?"

"… Of my life," Snape said, and he allowed the tears in his eyes, and brushed away the tears that rose in Harry's. And then he kissed the man – a long, slow, lingering kiss, that they did not finish until morning.

_A New Beginning_


End file.
